


Ineffable Family

by Hestia01



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Birth, Cozy, Dorks in Love, Family, Fluff, Marriage, Multi, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 21:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hestia01/pseuds/Hestia01
Summary: Continuing my timeline set in my Celestial Harmonies series. Aziraphale, Crowley, Anathema, and Newt are all finding their places in their new family that they've made. Among such people, life is anything but ordinary!
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Prelude to a Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> For best enjoyment and understanding, please read "Gravity" and "Finding Family" before this. The others of my Celestial Harmonies series would be good background, too, but not as necessary

Autumn was rapidly turning to winter, its biting chill and nightly frosts replacing the reds and golds of the world with white. Anathema and Newt's wedding was just a few days away. Recent discoveries about her parentage caused the young witch to move a certain angel and demon up a few tables, but since it was a small enough party to begin with, it really didn't throw too big of a wrench into things. She and Aziraphale had been enjoying this intervening time to get to know each other more, to establish a relationship. Both of them seemed equally pleased with the new additions to their families, and every day it seemed that they discovered ways that they were alike. These observations were often tossed out by Crowley in tones of mock-disdain.

“God, why didn't I notice it before? You've got a thing for tartan, too,” Crowley drawled with a wrinkled nose at his stepdaughter's plaid wool coat. “You're your father's daughter all over. Bookish, reclusive...”

“And we both have a thing for people who pretend to be tough when they're really a couple of big softies,” Anathema replied crisply. They shared a grin over this and they both knew no harm was meant.

Crowley pursed his lips, trying to think up a good parting shot. “You might not have his _wiggles_, but you do fidget with your pendulum.”

Anathema rolled her eyes and shook her head with a smile. It didn't take long for her to get to like this odd person. “That's how it works. It's not fidgeting or _wiggling_. Although I can tell you like it when Az—when my dad does that.” The times she'd seen him do that herself, she imagined he was settling his wings at his back like an overgrown contented pigeon. That mental image could always bring a smile to her face.

“You really like having him as your dad, don't you? Look, in all seriousness, I'm happy for you both.”

“I don't want to come between you or anything, I know you two have had...quite the time. If I start getting in the way, I'll back off a bit.”

Crowley waved that off, sliding off his sunglasses. “That's not what I was getting at. He's thrilled, I think he's holding back so he doesn't scare you by coming on too strong. He loves you. And I guess I can tolerate you.” They smirked at each other knowingly. “Plus now, I have someone I can be a bad influence on.” He slid a wrought-iron sigil over the counter at her. He cast an appraising look over her, his smile broadening. “Uh, here. I'm not very good at sentiment or anything like that, but...hang that up in your house somewhere, all right? Door frame's usually the best place for it. It, uh...it keeps _them_ away. It's how I mark my territory, it says that you're mine. If you're marked as already under demonic influence, other creatures of Hell should leave you alone.” He growled to himself frustratedly. “If anything happened to you now, Aziraphale would be beyond pissed off, and I can't have that, can I?” Crowley was obviously uncomfortable feeling protective of anyone but Aziraphale, especially a human!

Anathema slid the sigil into one of her coat's big pockets. “Of course,” she smiled. “Thank you.” Crowley grunted meaninglessly and paced prowlingly in the confined space among the heaps of books. He was only stuck minding the shop for an hour while Aziraphale ran some errands in town. It was kind of nice having some one-on-one time with his new stepdaughter. “One more thing. Hold still. And probably close your eyes.” When she did, he took a long, deep breath. He didn't exactly release his wings, but their shadows appeared at his back...with a short grunt of effort, they misted away over the young woman. She opened her eyes just as the smoke cleared. Crowley winced sympathetically as Anathema coughed. “Sorry, should've warned you to hold your breath, too. Demons, even not-quite-demons don't have the nicest scents. Don't worry, normal people won't detect it. Neither will you, after it's settled. Again, it's to keep unwelcome parties away. I just hope the other side doesn't swoop in on you.”

Waving a hand in the air to clear it, Anathema wrinkled her nose. She'd just been given a demon's sign and marked with his scent. A strange, yet fitting bookend to Aziraphale marking her, accepting her as his by enveloping her in his wings and dousing her with his love. “What, you mean Heaven?” It wasn't easy for her to shake her assumption that Heaven meant 'the good guys'. Watching them do nothing to prevent—and everything to try to bring about—the Apocalypse was still disturbing for her. She wasn't raised with any kind of religion, she was naturally distrustful of them on the whole, but that had been hard to watch and absorb. 

“They can be just as big of bullies as anyone Downstairs. If they have it in for me and your dad, they might come sniffing around for you. I don't know how to protect you from them. You're safe from my lot, at least, so that's something.”

“I appreciate it. I'm sure Newt will, too.” This odd new family of hers felt like a perfect fit. Just what she'd wanted since she was a kid. She'd had her mother growing up, along with aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents, but there always felt like there was room for more. And now this former demon was trying his damnedest to protect her from his ilk.

“Maybe Aziraphale knows how to keep his old cohorts off your tail. He'd hate knowing that he posed a danger to you.”

Anathema nodded, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “So anyway...this weekend, we don't bring any of this stuff up, okay? My family are all a bit out there, but I don't think they'd like it if they heard us...like this.”

Crowley pouted mockingly, “You mean your relatives wouldn't like you running around with a bunch of occult beings? Friendly neighbors with the Antichrist? Daughter of a not-quite-fallen angel? Saving the world?”

“We can talk about saving the world, if we want. That's a safe subject, it was in the book. Some of them probably want to hear how it all went. I mean, obviously, it went well. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here. Maybe just don't bring up what you are.”

“Seems fair. I'm not even sure what we actually are at this point. I know how to keep things under wraps. As long as...” he gestured to his back with fluttering fingers, “that doesn't happen.”

Anathema's eyes went wide. “I thought you could control that.” It was the first real worry about passing them off as humans.

“Normally, yes. I just remember when things got heated just before our honeymoon, Aziraphale's—ugh never mind.” Crowley sniggered to himself at the memory, waving jazz hands in the air. “Happy New Year!” Anathema snorted back a laugh at that before forcing her face in a disgusted look.

“Will I have to keep you two separated?” She giggled. It was so refreshingly nice that those two were so in love with each other. Most of her married family members bickered so much, always looking for a fight to pick. Her dad and her stepfather might rib each other regularly, but that was always tempered by the fond gazes they shared, the kindness that permeated their interactions. It was as if each was the other's absolute favorite person.

“Don't worry, we'll be good. Even your 'evil stepfather' will be on his best behavior. Now, is there anybody you'd like me to get?” He looked meaningfully at her. True, Crowley no longer answered to anybody Down There, but he still took interest in sowing discontent...as a hobby.

Mischief sparkled in Anathema's eyes as well as she thought of a few well-deserving family members. Nosy aunts in particular. Yes, this could be fun. “I'm sure I'll come up with something for you to do.”

The bell over the door jingled as the proprietor returned from his quest through the village. “Anathema! This is a pleasant surprise!” Aziraphale beamed. “Crowley, I trust you held down the fort.” He leaned over the counter and gave his husband a kiss. Crowley pretended to be embarrassed by this, but snaked an arm around and nuzzled him back with a pleased-sounding hiss.

Anathema smiled automatically at the sight of him as well. “Hi...Dad,” she greeted him. It was taking some getting used to, but she loved saying that word almost as much as he loved hearing it. “I just dropped by to let you and Crowley know you've been bumped up to the table with my mom. Don't worry, it's an open bar. I wouldn't force anyone to deal with her sober. She can be a bit...much. The good thing is, apart from me, she's the only one who's going to be there who knows _what _you both are.”

“Well, that puts her as more in the know than me.”

“Were,” she corrected shortly with a shrug. “I...I just want this to go well.”

Crowley leered over at them both with a sarcastic cooing voice, “I've already promised our little girl we'd be on our best behavior.”

“Y-yes! Of course,” Aziraphale agreed, sounding a bit flustered. He and Crowley had never been the most social creatures. It was a relief that as weddings go, Anathema and Newt had opted for a small, simple arrangement. A quick ceremony at the most non-denominational church in town, followed by a party at Jasmine Cottage. Fewer than fifty people altogether were coming, so that made it reasonably doable. The forecast said it was supposed to be mild enough to have it outdoors. Adam's powers may have diminished, but he still volunteered to influence some nice weather for the special day.

Now Anathema looked a little hesitant. She made a few false starts before touching her father on the arm. “I, uh...ran it by my mom, and she said it was fine if you'd want to give me away with her. I think she's getting a bit anxious about seeing you again.”

Aziraphale let out a breath, “Oh! Well, I'd be honored! I wouldn't feel right doing it alone, being absent for your whole life, but...along with your mother, it should be fine.”

“And you're okay with being at the same table as her, too?”

Crowley sauntered over and put an arm possessively around Aziraphale's waist. “Don't worry about that, he'll have me to protect him.”

The angel rolled his eyes with a pleased-not-pleased little smile, “It will be like having a large, neon 'Taken' sign hanging over me.”

“Better believe it,” Crowley growled.

The next day, they all gathered at Jasmine Cottage to meet Anathema's mother, along with the small wedding party and smattering of relatives. The older woman naturally flinched at seeing Aziraphale in the flesh again. They smiled politely, but awkwardly, while everyone else scattered to give them space. Word had obviously gotten around that Anathema's previously unknown father was going to make an appearance, and here he was! Luckily, a former demon was on hand to break the ice.

“So, you were my angel's first. Good to meet you. I'm Anthony Crowley-Fell, you know my husband, Alexis. And you are?”

Taking Crowley's hand, but addressing Aziraphale she replied, “Cristina Device.”

Aziraphale gave her a charming smile and shook her hand as well. “How nice to see you again. Thank you...for Anathema, for...everything.”

She gave him a confused look. Something didn't sound right. “Alexis? First you were Tony, then I heard you get called Az—something...how many names do you have?”

Aziraphale sighed and shook his head, shrugging broadly. “Alexis my human name. Crowley gave it to me,” he whispered. “Easier for people to say.”

This seemed sufficient for Cristina, who looked over at their daughter with a pointedly raised eyebrow. “She already thinks the world of you both.” She eyed both Aziraphale and Crowley a trifle uneasily, unsure of what she thinks of her daughter falling in so readily with these people.

“We've offered her every protection available to us,” Aziraphale promised earnestly. “She's a remarkable woman. You have every reason to be proud of her.”

Cristina smiled, a bit more relaxed. “I'd say she did us both credit. So...before this place gets too crowded...can I...that is, can you show me your...” she made a fluttering gesture with her hands, “you know...one more time?” The years fell away from her face as she made the request, and she once again looked at him with the same gentle curiosity that she had over twenty years ago.

Aziraphale exchanged a look with Crowley before shaking his head with mutedly pursed lips. “No. No, I don't think that would be...wise.”

“Anathema says that they're different now,” she whispered. “They've turned silver.” Her tone was soft and reverent, as if her very soul recognized him as a being of love and was hoping for another dose.

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed subtly. “The answer is still no, my dear. You've seen them, she's seen them, there's no need for any further...presentations. Besides, their span...” he looked warily around the small kitchen they were in. “I'd really rather not. I'm trying not to draw attention to that. As far as anyone else here is concerned, I'm human. Understand? I won't have you...sowing those seeds here.”

Nodding with a disappointed pout, Cristina went on to mingle with other family members. Aziraphale heaved a sigh of relief. “Well. That was...”

“Uncomfortable,” Crowley finished for him. “At least I don't have to be part of the church service. Don't think my feet could take it.”

Aziraphale grinned, feeling a warm wave of devotion crash over him. Crowley had suffered consecrated ground for him once, but he was opting out for this occasion. He wondered if it would be just as painful for him to sit within a consecrated area as it was for him to stand. “You can get a head start at the open bar, my dear.”

“Well, somebody ought to make sure what they caterers bring is worthwhile. I'll be the official tester.”

“So brave of you, Crowley. Such self-sacrifice will be duly recorded.”

“I'm sure it will, angel,” he drawled, giving Aziraphale a sound spank on the bottom. The angel startled, but gave a frisky-looking grin to his husband as a damning blush touched his cheeks. He swayed back and forth in contentment as he fought to put on a neutral expression. He failed utterly at this as he couldn't keep that smile off his face.

“Calm yourself, Az,” Crowley groused, annoyed from being around all these humans, and having to _behave_. “You practically have cartoon hearts floating over your head.”

“And you put them there,” Aziraphale replied cozily, nuzzling his cheek unapologetically. “It will be all back to normal in a few days. We just have to get through the weekend and it should be fine.”

They couldn't stay on their own for long, Anathema drew them back into the throng in an effort to meet everybody. It was a good thing that Newt didn't have much of a family. Just his mother and his grandparents. He'd been an unsocial enough person as an adult that Sergeant Shadwell was his best man. Newt stood awkwardly among his future in-laws with a touch of jealousy and a bit of gratitude. Wishing he'd had a larger family, but equally glad that he didn't. Both he and Anathema had insisted on inviting the Them to the wedding, and their parents of course, but apart from that, few people in town were close enough to the couple to warrant an invitation. They still struck other Tadfielders as strange, so they were largely left alone. The Them thankfully kept other neighborhood kids from committing any cruel pranks or vandalism on them, or they might have been subjected to any manner of small town hazing by now.

Many of Anathema's family singled out Aziraphale, naturally, dragging him away from the protection of his husband. Crowley slouched in a corner, keeping a sharp eye out in case he was needed. The father of the bride found himself passed from person to person, group to group. Now a gaggle of cousins who had been Anathema's closest childhood friends, now pulled into a cluster of aunts to coo over how _cute_ he was, and suppositions over what he must have looked like when Cristina had known him. Aziraphale knew better than to broaden that topic beyond “About the same, really,” with a helpless shrug.

“Oh, look at that face! You are going to have beautiful grandchildren!” One particularly sharp-looking lady remarked as she pinched his cheek.

Aziraphale froze, trying not to audibly gulp. “Grandchildren? Oh, yes, thank you. Well...moving on.” He'd only just come to terms with being somebody's father. Now they were adding a whole new generation onto his family tree. For someone who'd never had a family, he found his to be expanding exponentially in a very short time.

“Well, at least one, right?” Cristina joined in, drawing Anathema over and giving her a poke in the tummy. Both Aziraphale and Anathema blanched with identical 'oh, fuck!' expressions. “What, couldn't you tell? It's all over her aura!”

“Mom! When would I have told him? I just told you a minute ago, _and_ that it was still a secret! I was waiting until we had some privacy! And I don't think _he_ can see auras!”

“Pshh, you're getting married, nobody's going to judge you even if they bother to do the math.”

“Mom, I can't believe you! How could you!?” Anathema hissed shrilly. She turned apologetically to her father, seeing him looking rather ashen. Quickly, she dragged a folding chair over to him. “Oh god. Breathe. Sit down, it's all right. Dammit, Mom, are you happy? You nearly gave him a heart attack!” She made soothing shushing noises while stroking his back, trying to keep the shock from triggering...anything. Aziraphale sighed softly, calming as he wriggled his shoulders against her palms. 

“Ahh, thank you. That feels much better.”

“We were going to tell you after the wedding. We thought it was bad luck otherwise.”

“My dear girl, look at who you're talking to.” Aziraphale smiled weakly, carefully layering significance on his words. To the outside observer, he looked like he was reminding her that she was not only conceived, but born and raised outside of wedlock. Anathema knew he was referring to at least one other famous conception that occurred outside of marriage. “So, is this an Averted Apocalypse baby?”

Anathema grinned, looking fondly at Newt from across the room. “I think it might be. So, if Agnes said it was okay, it must be. She was rather vague on the repercussions of that particular prophesy.” She gave her father a pat on the shoulder, giving his back a soft brush. “All right?”

There was a distracted moment when Anathema removed her hand. He didn't want her to stop! It reminded him of home, of his fellow angels' group preening rituals. Aziraphale felt suddenly lonely and bereft. “Hmm. Yes, fine. Thank you.”

Anathema didn't miss the short whimper of protest when she stopped touching him, and she could see it pulsing in his aura. Aziraphale wanted her close. He was almost as comforted by her as much as he would be by Crowley. More than that, she could feel his love radiating off of him; it was enough to settle and calm her, despite the busyness of the day. Anathema, too, felt the overwhelming desire to cuddle close, but now was not the time. So, she merely helped him to his feet once his dizzy spell passed.

For the rest of the day, Anathema arranged that nobody of their group got sucked into any interrogation alone. She, Aziraphale, Crowley, or Newt would form any combination thereof to back each other up. The rest of them found it to be a satisfying arrangement as well. Safety in numbers.

Soon, everyone returned to fussing over the bride and groom, leaving the parents alone. It was a welcome change, and allowed the less socially-inclined people a chance to get their bearings back.

“Do you know how to transform?” Crowley asked. “Sometimes, if it gets to be too much, I can just become a snake and no one's the wiser.”

Aziraphale shook his head, dabbing the back of his neck with a handkerchief. “No, can't say I ever learned that trick.”

“It's easy. Think of some animal you have an affinity with. Maybe not something other people would think was impressive, but something you'd be comfortable with. You got it? Now, just close your eyes, and focus on that.”

Closing his eyes obediently, Aziraphale nodded, “All right. Just promise you won't laugh.”

Crowley grinned. “I'm sure I'll love whatever you change into.” His husband opened one eye a crack and gave him an uncertain look. “I won't laugh, angel, I promise.”

He closed his eyes again, forcing himself to focus on the animal he chose. “Now what?”

“Now just...thbbbppppp!”

“That's not entirely helpful.”

“Just...relax into it. Become it. Just _swoosh!_”

Aziraphale gave a soft groan of effort and then shrank down with a light _ahhh_. He opened his eyes and looked up, he felt much smaller...softer...his nose twitched. He looked up and saw Crowley's face grinning at him, felt himself get picked up. Crowley was speechless, he looked absolutely enthralled as he cuddled him. _Oh, this feels nice!_

Crowley petted him, speaking softly. “Well done, Az. I couldn't have picked better. This is perfect.”

Anathema came by, having extricated herself from her family for a breath of air. “Oh, Crowley! What a cute bunny!” She petted him and scratched behind his ears. “Where did you come from, little guy?”

Crowley passed him off to her, brushing his hands together. “It's your dad,” before making his way to the kitchen.

Anathema held onto her transformed father, looking between him and Crowley with a stunned expression, knowing that no further answers would be forthcoming. “Dad?” He only twitched at her and butted his head under her free hand. She automatically petted him some more. “What do you think you're doing?” He squirmed urgently, unable to speak, but she understood he wanted to get down. She set the fluffy white rabbit on the living room floor and brushed her hands on her dress. Anathema smiled when she saw he wasn't pure white at all, but he had spots of the lightest toasted tan and shimmery grey in the shape of wings down his sides. She watched him hop away and curl up under a cupboard with a large black and copper snake. The snake wrapped himself cozily around the rabbit's body, but nothing that could be confused with trying to crush him. They simply nestled together.

Crowley's only regret was that his husband had chosen a form that was unable to make a wide range of sounds. 

“Sssstay,” he whispered. “Sssssafe.” Beneath his glistening coils, Crowley felt his husband's heartbeat flutter rapidly. “Sssssafe,” he repeated, rubbing his head against Aziraphale's fluffy cheek. The heartbeat slowed as he calmed down.

Newt was the first person to notice the absence of two of the guests. “Anathema? You don't know where your dads disappeared to, do you?”

Anathema gave a broad shrug and stage shake of the head, back in the clutches of her aunts, all speculating on whether or not she looked too thin for their tastes. She raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat. “No, but there's some critters hiding under the kitchen sink. They must've needed to some quiet.”

Newt scrunched his face in confusion, shaking his head to show he didn't understand, but Anathema offered no other input. “Critters?” He tsked at the Americanism. Then, he opened the cupboard door and took a look for himself. He gasped sharply at the snake, which had glowing yellow eyes, and was wrapped snugly around a fluffy rabbit which was making no attempt to escape. “Whoa!” The snake stared piercingly at him, and then almost immediately went back to looking bored. He flicked his tail dismissively. Newt quickly shut the door on them and scurried out.

Fortunately, the party seemed to be winding down as Anathema's relatives broke off to go to the hotel. The wedding was in the morning and everyone needed to get their rest. Once they were gone, Aziraphale and Crowley reappeared.

Giving his neck a pop, Aziraphale gave his husband a relieved smile. “Oh, thank you. That worked marvelously.”

“Man, I wish I could do that,” Anathema sighed enviously. “Feel better?”

“Much, thank you. Sorry for, ah, bailing on you, my dear. I'm just not used to crowds,” her father apologized sincerely. He had felt so nice and cozy when she held him.

“No, that's fine. I'd have done the same thing.”

“So, I'll stay back here during the church do and let in the caterers and take care of all that,” Crowley volunteered, as if nothing untoward had happened. The more normal they treated these strange aspects of their lives, the easier it would be for the humans to go along with them.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Anathema agreed, glad that he had a job to do and wasn't getting left out. “And once the party is underway tomorrow, if either of you need to slip into something more...comfortable, go right ahead.”

“Look, I couldn't make it voluntary on your part, but if you need to disappear at all tomorrow, let me know,” Aziraphale informed his daughter. “Perhaps something Newton here wouldn't mind holding?”

Newt flinched, not sure what he thinks of all this hocus-pocus going on. “You're offering to _transmogrify_ my wife?!”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied shortly with a benign smile. “If she so desires. Or Crowley could do his...” he made a short gesture, like the one Crowley had used to freeze former Sister Mary Loquacious at the paintball field. “...thing. Anything to make the day go by easier.”

“I thought you two were trying to keep things under wraps! Your secret's going to be fairly well out if you're going to start doing magic on that scale in public!” Newt spluttered.

Crowley shrugged, “You're just mad because we hadn't gotten around to offering to do one for you yet. We've been doing this stuff for centuries and no one's bothered to notice. Humans tend to find ways to explain anything they don't like away.”

Newt looked from the occult creatures back to his bride-to-be, expecting for her to have a similarly disapproving look on her face. She only smiled, apparently pleased with how things were going so far. “You can't be serious. You're going to let them even _suggest_ these things?”

Anathema folded her arms, still with that calm, determined smile on her face. “You want an out? If you ask nicely, they might arrange a getaway.”

Newt's frustration waned at the sight of his fiancee taking it all in stride. If she could, he could, too. “No, that's all right.”

“Right, this was fun, now we're just going to steal Newt here for the night. Bad luck for him to see the bride before the wedding, you know,” Crowley drawled, grabbing him firmly by the arm. “And don't you worry, we'll take good care of him.”

“Besides,” Aziraphale added, “We couldn't let him off without a stag night. Sergeant Shadwell will be there, too.”

Anathema smirked. “All right. You boys be good, okay?”

“Never have been, never will be,” Crowley answered cockily, knowing full well it wasn't true. “We'll just be at the bookshop if you need us.”

Newt cast lost looks between his future fathers-in-law and his soon-to-be wife, “I'll just, uh, grab my suit and stuff, if I'm spending the night.” Aziraphale snapped and the garment bag appeared in Newt's hand, along with his toiletries case and shoes.

“Don't scare him too badly,” Anathema requested, giving them each a kiss on the cheek.

Once they arrived at the bookshop, Aziraphale and Crowley shepherded Newt into the back room. Aziraphale wound up his record player and put on some Tchaikovsky and poured them each a glass of scotch. He sat down on the sofa across from Newt. Crowley looked between them with a smile twitching at his lips and settled himself down on the cushion next to his husband. He sat on the very edge of his seat, as if eager for the night's entertainment.

Aziraphale heaved a thoughtful sigh.“Look, I know she's only been my daughter for a few weeks, and I have no right to make posturing threats at you. I don't approve of that sort of behavior, anyway. Just be good to her. Promise.”

Newt nodded earnestly. “I promise.” He took a sip and coughed a little. “This has all happened rather quickly, but I care about her, she's so easy to love. I think she's wonderful.”

“This has all happened quickly. Angels and demons don't tend to have families. Now we've got quite a big one. It's strange...but nice.” Aziraphale leaned back in his seat and downed the rest of his drink.

“Except when you have to turn into a snake and a bunny rabbit to get away,” Newt added with a hopeful grin. 

“He said it was strange,” Crowley defended, already on his second glass. “When he says that we don't 'tend to have families,' he literally means it's not been done before. It's not in our natures, we have no context for it. Angels and yes, demons, _can_ sire children, but even that doesn't happen often enough to go on. We certainly don't stick around. We don't have parents, we don't have siblings, any of that. Even spending thousands of years among humans doesn't make it sink into us. We're simply not human. So, yes, we're going to have to turn into a snake and a bunny rabbit when things get overwhelming. Look, I'm with Aziraphale. We're not here to threaten you. Anathema's crazy about you. That's good enough for us. Just a warning that this isn't going to be normal. We're not going to pretend to be human for you. We have to do that with enough outsiders. We figure, you're part of the gang, we can let our hair down a bit with you. Isn't that right, angel?”

“I couldn't have put it better myself.” They exchanged fond glances and they scooted closer together, squeezing hands cozily. In his whole sheltered life, Newt Pulsifer had never seen a gay couple this openly infatuated with each other before. It struck him as really sweet.

Fortunately, this was the moment when Sergeant Shadwell found his way into the bookshop. With a vaguely Scottish bellow of glee, he strode in and whacked Newt on both shoulders. “So, t'morrow's the big day! Time tae give ye a fine send-off!”

It certainly wasn't a typical bachelor party. True, it was a men-only gathering, with music, heavy drinking and raucous story-telling involved, but that was where the similarities ended. Newt realized that things were feeling rather hazy much quicker than he anticipated, and Crowley kept refilling his glass from an unmarked bottle. He saw Aziraphale make eye-contact with him at one point and shake his head mouthing “No,” the next time Crowley came around.

Also, every now and then, Newt would swear he saw the bottles refill themselves. The first time this happened, it was right after Crowley was sobbing on Aziraphale's shoulder about “Those poor kids! Even my lot didn't kill kids!” while his husband consoled him. Shadwell started crying along with him, even though he didn't know why.

“Aye, th' poor wee bairn. Ne'er hadda chance,” he blubbered into his glass. It wasn't clear whether it was solely in sympathy with the tormented demon, or if he had his own horrors in his past that never left him.

“I know, I know. I...I didn't like it any more than you did. But...ugh...That's enough, Crowley. Come on, let's wring out.”

A moment later, they were both sober enough to drive, or just ready to start all over again.

Half an hour into round two, Crowley suddenly snapped up attentively. “Y'know what? What _really_ annoys me?!”

“What?” chorused the three other people in the room, in varying states of drunkenness.

“I...I got all the credit for the French Revolution, the Spanish Inquisition, Beatlemania...all that horrible stuff that wasn't even my idea. Y'know what I never get credit for? Never?”

“No...”

“Fitted sheets! Those! Those were a masterstroke, if I do say so myself. Pure genius. Wonderfully evil. And nobody thinks of it. I'm pretty proud of fitted sheets, actually.”

“Oh, god, that was you?” Newt slurred as he swayed in his seat. He turned to Shadwell and nudged him. “This...this bastard is the guy who invented fitted sheets!” And he burst out laughing. “That's who to send your letters to!”

“No foolin'? Arg, that's a good joke,” Shadwell agreed. It was a miracle he was still alive, let alone conscious at this point. By now, they were all falling over laughing about it. When they started to peter out, one would splutter with renewed sniggers and start them all up again.

“My dear, thaaat's gotta be the most e-evil thing you've ever done,” Aziraphale stammered. “I've even tried to miracle them folded and they still don't lie flat!” Then his smile turned languid and he just draped himself against his husband's lithe form. “Hold me...fold me like a fitted sheet!” And he cackled with laughter again as he clung to him. Crowley cuddled him back, sliding backward on the sofa and dragging Aziraphale on top of him. He squeezed him and nuzzled his hair. They exchanged sloppy kisses and wriggles, purring “I love you,” back and forth to each other.

“Arg, ye great southern pansies,” Shadwell scoffed, not at all offended at seeing these gentlemen making out in front of him.

“Mmm, that's _The_ Southern Pansies to you, Sergeant,” Aziraphale sighed comfortably. Newt just slumped back in his seat and tittered.

“Look, I think we'd better get to bed. Big day tomorrow and all,” he suggested quite sensibly. “Can you find your hotel all right, Sergeant Shadwell?”

“Aye, I can make it. Just gimme a minute to stand up. Ye fellas throw a fine party, for a couple of fairies.” And he staggered out into the night. The hotel was just two doors down, or they wouldn't have let him go alone.

Aziraphale and Crowley snuggled together a moment longer before sobering up again for the last time that night. Crowley looked Newt up and down and shook his head at the state of him. “Fine, this one's on me.” He snapped his fingers and the human was similarly sobered up. The bottles refilled and they all grimaced as they became un-drunk.

“_That_ is an amazing trick!” Newt allowed, not having been in favor of their tricks until now.

“You can sleep on the couch, we'll be upstairs.”


	2. Wedding Bells

It was a crisp, sunny day for Anathema and Newt's wedding. While everyone else gathered at the church, Crowley stayed behind. He even whipped out his old white suit for the occasion. The last time he wore it, it was heralding the beginning of the non-apocalypse complete with the “wrong boy” declaring a food fight. 

“I wonder how Warlock's doing these days. I really should look in on him sometime. I was his nanny, after all,” Crowley said absently to himself as he checked in deliveries. He remembered formal occasions he'd attended with him. The son of a diplomat always had his entourage, and it always included his nanny! Warlock had been a good kid. A bit of a little shit sometimes, but most little boys were, Crowley had to admit. He'd been surprisingly fond of the boy. He had great capacity for mischief. Crowley had more than once been tempted to steal him away. He and Aziraphale could have raised him for real and not just on the side. _I'll definitely have to check up on him._

Crowley's current suit gave him just the feeling of command he needed in directing traffic and playing wedding organizer; he'd change into his party tux once the reception began. He was actually on the invitation list for once, not just staff. 

Still, he made sure the staff had it pretty good with this gig. Crowley may have barked and bellowed orders for the flowers and the tent and lights and such to be arranged correctly, but he'd also made sure to order extra food for everyone working there to have a full meal and some cake, as well as some miracled champagne. Crowley had been at enough of these affairs to know how much work went into it, even if he'd always “officially” been there to cause trouble. This time, Crowley was determined to see things done perfectly. As a semi-reformed mischief-maker, he knew where things were likely to go wrong, and he kept a watchful eye. It felt a bit against his nature, but he figured he was an elevated demon now, so good deeds could be an occasional part of his repertoire.

“Shit! Look out!” Crowley called to the baker's delivery team. With an upward gesture, a tangle of electrical cords unknotted and lay smooth and straight across the grass. “Watch your step,” he cautioned, getting gestures and utterances of thanks from the delivery team. Next came the people designated to arrange the flowers who were in evident need of direction.

“No, no! The lilacs go over here! Look, it's the four seasons, right? The theme is Wheel of the Year. Symbolizes rebirth and permanence amid change, yeah? So, lilacs, lily of the valley, and narcissus over there, that's spring. Summer is petunias, tiger lilies, and apple blossoms. Autumn is sunflowers and chrysanthemums, and winter is holly, spruce, and poinsettias. Got it?” He clapped and pointed everyone to their respective quadrant.

As Crowley oversaw the erection of the DJ's stand and the placement of microphones for announcements and toasts, he felt like a general directing armies. It took him back to his days among the resistance during the Crusades. He hoped there would be much less bloodshed here!

At the church, everyone milled around, waiting for the time to begin, Aziraphale paced outside the door to the bridal room where Anathema and her bridesmaids were making final preparations. He could hear them chattering and laughing and cooing at each other. He waited awkwardly, rubbing a strip of fabric between his fingers and thumb. 

He'd been hoping to catch her alone. All of this felt like it had happened rather quickly. Despite the wedding itself not happening until noon, they had all been up and going since before sunrise, lining up cars, shuttling guests and the wedding party to the church, distributing flowers and candles, and tying ribbons along the pews. Despite church already having their Christmas decorations up, there was still much to do to put the finishing touches on their festive affair. So many little details to attend to, and so there had been no time to steal a moment alone with his daughter.

Aziraphale waited, hovering nearby, nervously, unsure what the rules were here. He knew it was considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, but he couldn't remember any limitations on the father of the bride. Still, the room seemed to be for ladies only. He wondered if men—or generally male-presenting semi-ethereal beings—would be allowed in. Aziraphale looked down again at the bit of tartan cloth in his hand with a hopeful fluttery feeling of nerves. It was his own personal pattern, and therefore very special to him. It was his private act of rebellion. He started wearing it in the early 19th century, when such things enjoyed a period of popularity. It was his own design. White underneath, to represent Heaven, overlaid more prominently with beige and blue for his affinity to the Earth. Blue was a scorned color among his fellow angels. It was an Earth color, beneath them. Everything they did or wore was a statement that they were supreme in all ways. For Aziraphale to incorporate blue so prominently into his clothes marked him as a subversive. It was one of the the proudest, bravest things Aziraphale could have done.

He would have wanted to give this to her today anyway, but after finding out about the baby yesterday, he had all the more reason to formally mark her as his family. Crowley had given her his sigil to say that she was his. He wanted to do the same.

Cristina and one of her friends caught sight of him.

“Alexis,” she greeted him cheerily, but with a touch of suspicion. “What are you doing over here? Did you need something?”

“Ah, yes, well, I was...hoping...to give Anathema something. Just this,” he held out his hand and looked a bit shy, he was starting to blush and fidget. “It's technically something blue,” Aziraphale explained, hoping that would suffice.

Cristina wrinkled her nose and looked between the ribbon and the man holding it. “Oh, no, dear, that wouldn't go at all.”

“It wouldn't match her dress,” her friend chimed in, shaking her head.

“Maybe she could stick it in her pocket or something, but really...It's just not attractive.”

Aziraphale wilted, his eyes and shoulders drooped and he bowed his head, shamefaced. “I...I see. Well...jolly good. Th-thank you for your input. Nearly made a mess of things.” He sat down in a chair outside the door.

As the two women left, he could just hear Cristina's friend mutter how ugly plaid was, and how silly it was for him to want Anathema to wear _that _on her wedding day. He groaned to himself, wishing Crowley was there. His husband would surely have had some snide remark to reply with, or done some bit of mischief as payback to make him laugh.

A moment later, the door opened and Anathema popped her head out for a breath of air. She found her father sitting there, looking absolutely crushed. He looked close to tears.

“Dad...” she gasped as she approached him, full of concern. “Dad, what's wrong?”

The angel shook his head and patted her hand. “I'm sorry, my dear. Don't mind me. I'll be fine.” He heaved a heavy sigh.

Anathema could tell he was lying, even if she didn't have the advantage of seeing his aura. _Heartbroken_, a dark, sad indigo, stained with black. A stormy sky. He was really feeling awful about something! She sat next to him and put her hand on his knee. “Is Crowley all right?! Did something happen? Is there anything I can do? Is someone in...” she pointed upwards and downwards significantly “trouble?”

“No, nobody's in trouble. I'm just being dramatic, I suppose. Crowley says I do that sometimes.” He gave a small smile at the thought of his husband's gentle ribbing. 

Anathema shook her head. “I don't think he'd say that now. Something's wrong. Please tell me.”

It was clear that Aziraphale was used to being told that what mattered to him didn't matter. He trotted out the lines fluently. “It's silly. It doesn't really matter, I suppose. Today's supposed to be about you, not me...and we only just met a few months ago...It was too bold of me to think.” He sighed again, pulling the ribbon out and handing it to her. “I'd only hoped you'd wear this today. It's a formal presentation and all. Your mother...well, she didn't approve. She said it wouldn't match your dress and that it's not at all attractive. Perhaps she's right. I only wanted you to have it.”

As she stroked the fabric with her fingertips, Anathema felt something huge coming off of it. It felt so much like him! She didn't even need him to tell her it was his personal tartan. It vibrated with a host of feelings, like when he first claimed her as his child. That heart-deep binding sensation! _It means him, it means you, it means FAMILY._ Tears sprang to her eyes and she had to stop herself from wiping them away and spoiling her makeup. It had just taken over an hour to get that done! “Oh! Yes! I...I'd be honored to,” she gushed, gazing at it reverently, then looking up at her father before giving him a hug and a kiss. “Thank you!”

Aziraphale was still not sure, he wanted to give her an out. “It will become whatever size you want it to be. You can hide it in your pocket or shoe since it doesn't match your dress.”

To his surprise, Anathema chose to test that by running her fingers over the fabric with intent this time. “I'm not going to hide this in a pocket or a shoe like it's something to be ashamed of. I want people to see it. I have my grandma's silver locket that my mom lent me, one of Agnes' nails—definitely something old!, Newt's wearing his Witchfinder pin. We have a lot of heritage and history to represent! Plus, it's something blue.” Her face grew focused as she stroked and tugged it, and the sample grew bigger...and bigger! She stood and shook it out, now the size of a wide scarf. She wrapped it around her waist. “Quick, Dad, I need something to pin it,” she requested. 

Aziraphale, too shocked to disobey, held his hand briefly in the air and thought _Make it whatever she'd like most_. From thin air, he drew out a round silver brooch with angel wings on the edges. Anathema pinned it on and spun in place.

“Oh, Dad, it's perfect! Thank you!” She gave him another tight hug, nearly giving Aziraphale an overdose of _love_. He gasped and clung back, as hope and happiness flooded back into him. She was his! And she was proud of it!

In the end, the wedding itself was fairly short and simple. Anathema looked every inch a winter witch in her floating green dress. As her parents walked her toward the altar, Aziraphale felt as if he had sunk into a dream-like state. He'd been to his share of weddings over the years, and had never been one to cry at them. He was simply happy, in it's nearly perfectly pure state. He paused to wonder if this were all part of the Ineffable Plan as well, that he should sire a child and then find her at the end of the world.

They reached the altar and Anathema gave them both a hug and kiss before joining her groom. Aziraphale and Cristina just stood back, grinning at each other before taking their seats. Neither of them remarked at Anathema's new accessory, but Aziraphale looked markedly pleased with himself. He liked getting his way for a change!

“I still can't believe it,” Aziraphale breathed in bewilderment.

“I know what you mean,” Cristina agreed, then gave him a friendly pat on the hand. “She came from us!”

He had to suppress giggles at that. “Yes!” he whispered exuberantly. “She did. I am glad you both turned out so well.” When he looked at her, she suddenly felt so young in comparison! He was glad that _she'd_ turned out so well! 

It reminded Cristina that when they'd met, she was barely an adult, with plenty of growing up to do, plenty of life before her. For the briefest of instants, she understood how ancient he was, permanently disguised as a middle-aged man. She remembered his angelic love filling her bedroom all those years ago, those huge white wings. Several years too late, Cristina felt a twinge of fear in the pit of her stomach. She imagined what she would think if Anathema had done the same thing at that age, leading a strange man who looked twice her age to her bed. But she had been young and rather rebellious, and Agnes hadn't issued any warnings on the subject. It wasn't until long after that she even considered what could have happened. But that kind of retroactive worry was useless after the fact. Besides, he'd had the most beautiful aura. 

“We didn't do anything wrong, my dear. It was in the book, after all,” Aziraphale calmly reminded her, patting her hand in return. “I'm so happy to have her in my life.”

“I took care of her up to now, now it's on you and Newt.”

“And Crowley,” he added. “But don't forget, she can take care of herself. She's remarkable.”

Then they quieted down and sat through the rest of the ceremony. Aziraphale nearly got the giggles, there was so much happiness around him, so much love, it was giving him a contact high. He gave a happy squirm in his seat. Anathema looked over at him and smiled, he just looked positively gleeful! His smile could light up the whole room, it was infectious!

The couple lit the unity candle together, smiling weepily at each other. Then, Newt took off his Witchfinder pin and Anathema removed Agnes' roofing nail from her pocket...holding hands, they drove these items into the softened candle wax. 

“Peace between our families,” Newt declared.

“Between witches and witchfinders,” Anathema added, and she swore she could hear her ancestor laughing with delight in the wind.

“Hear, hear!” Sergeant Shadwell bellowed from Newt's side, making them all jump, getting a shrill titter from Madame Tracy in the audience. She shook her head in mock disapproval while gazing contently up at him.

Soon, it was all over and groups started breaking off to meet up at Anathema's house for the reception.  
Crowley and the catering staff's hard word had paid off. Everyone who passed through into the back garden oooh'ed and aaahhh'ed in wonder at the sight. It was perfection! A sheer white tent erected in the middle, decorated throughout with flowers to represent the seasons and the turning of the year. The flowers all came from Crowley's garden, and had been shouted at to their peak vibrancy. Taking their cue from Aziraphale, Anathema, and Newt, the entering guests all thanked Crowley for his hard work and remarked fervently how beautiful it all was. He accepted these sincere, kind words with unaccustomed awkwardness. He shrugged and made faces and waved them all off in turn. Still, he was clearly flattered by the outpouring of appreciation.

The wedding party and family members spent about an hour or more doing group pictures in the tent while the rest of the guests enjoyed a cocktail hour. Cristina became palpably annoyed with Crowley for wearing his sunglasses in all of the pictures. She even started to regret including him in the family portraits! She sighed under her breath and gave him sour looks. At about the tenth time her mother did this, Anathema snapped, gave her a whack with her bouquet and loudly insisted he was her stepfather and that she wanted him there. After that short, but effective scene, her mother relented and was quiet for the rest of the photos.

There were a series of toasts, a formal meal, cake-cutting, and first dances. First the newly married couple, then a father-daughter dance, and a mother-son dance. Then things turned into more of a real party than part of a ceremony. Anathema and Newt danced energetically to Queen's “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” as Aziraphale watched, cuddled up with Crowley, and swaying where they stood. They quietly stole kisses, both of them the picture of sheer bliss.

Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy meandered through, breathless from having finished a dance a moment ago. Something caught their eyes and Shadwell felt compelled to remark on it to the mother of the bride. 

“Arg, that's a fine tartan on the bride! Where'd she get it? I dinnae recall seeing it on anyone else but Mr. Fell in all my long years.”

Cristina sniffed, still disapproving of the addition, especially since it had been done behind her back! “Her father gave it to her, he practically insisted she wear it. Frankly, I think it's hideous.” 

“Her dad's the Southern Pansy, aye. Quite the auspicious gesture. He's a-saying he's got her under his wings.”

“Under his--?!” For just a second, Cristina was worried that their family secret was out!

Madame Tracy chimed in helpfully, “Just an expression, of course. It means they're family. She's his and he's hers. And they both want everyone to know it.” 

As they walked off, Cristina heard Shadwell growl to Tracy, “Daft Americans, have no sense of history.”

When Cristina Device looked at her daughter again, she gave a soft sigh and a hopeful smile. It might not match the dress, but it certainly matched her daughter. 

She spotted Aziraphale, sauntered over, and finally chose to point out the tartan scarf. Anathema now wore it around her shoulders as a shawl. Perfect for their outdoor party on a chilly day.

“It really means that much?”

Aziraphale nodded, getting misty-eyed again. “It's mine...it's ours. She told me she wanted it to be bigger, so people would see.”

“She loves you already.”

“And I love her already,” he replied with a content smile. “Even Crowley accepted her, and he doesn't always warm up right away.”

Cristina watched the newlyweds, then admitted. “Maybe it doesn't have to match. It looks good on her.” They smiled at each other, an understanding finally reached. 

Meanwhile, Crowley slouched off to the bar for a refill. Aziraphale joined him as soon as he could get away.

“Ugh, now Cristina's friend is giving me looks, too. Is it actually possible for two people to share a brain?”

“Her friend is a bad influence on her, I can tell you that much. Cristina was...tactless about giving Anathema the family tartan, but _she_ was outright rude.”

“If I hadn't promised to be on my best behavior for you, angel, I'd...

Aziraphale huffed, tugging at his jacket. “Be my guest. I've had it.”

“So, what? Do like that bit in Beetlejuice only make her do the Chicken Dance? Hmm...Oh, but it's my day off. And it's Anathema's wedding. Might be about snake time, though. Would you mind if I...?” Crowley suggested.

Aziraphale shook his head tiredly. “Me next.”

“Deal.” And with that, he spiraled away, and where he stood was a black snake.

“Don't wander off too far, dear.”

Taking this request literally, Crowley wrapped around his husbands leg, climbing up him like a tree until he draped around his shoulders. He flickered his tongue against his ear, making Aziraphale giggle.

He returned to the floor with a large glass of pinot noir, feeling secure with his serpentine companion. The snake dipped his tongue into the wine for a taste, writhing comfortably when they were beset by Anathema and her mother.

“Alexis,” she greeted him happily, although they'd just parted moments ago. It looked like she was tipsy already and feeling pretty good overall. “Now where, oh where is that pretty husband of yours?”

Aziraphale shrugged, stroking the snake innocently. “I haven't seen him lately. Perhaps he went inside.”

“Oh, good. I don't think he likes me much. I can't imagine why.” 

Anathema covered her face in embarrassment. “Maybe it's because he thinks you're flirting with his husband, Mom. Or those looks you gave him during the photography session.”

“I'm sure he has nothing against you. He's just...protective,” Aziraphale suggested, feeling the coils around his shoulders tighten.

Cristina peered curiously. “Where did you get that snake?”

“Oh, him? He's the shop pet. Keeps rodents away. I couldn't bear to leave him on his own all day, though. He gets so lonely, he's a natural cuddler,” Aziraphale rhapsodized, getting a tickling tongue-flicker of annoyance from Crowley. “I thought I'd let him run round the garden. He's quite harmless.” Cristina made a foul face at the reptile before beating a hasty retreat.

Anathema came right up and and pet the snake's head.

“You pretty thing,” she praised softly, sharing a knowing look with her father. “Me next,” she hissed, “Please?” Anathema sounded desperate. She'd been stuck in the spotlight or under her mother's watchful gaze all day!

Aziraphale nodded, willing to sacrifice his turn for her sake. “Absolutely, my dear. Any preference?”

She shrugged. “Cat?” As he looked her over, Anathema could see the wheels in his head turning, as if he was trying to envision her in that form.

“All right. Fifteen minutes. _Then_ me.” He wasn't going to lose his turn entirely!

Crowley flickered his tongue out, undulating with pleasure, sliding up around Anathema's neck now. She tensed instinctively, but then forced herself to relax. She stroked his head some more before he slid back down to the ground.

“He's adorable,” Anathema admitted. “So, once he's back it's my turn. Then you.”

“I suppose we could rescue your husband if he so desired.”

Anathema wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Newt doesn't really like this whole...business. Oh!” She exclaimed shortly as Crowley glided up around a knot of her more irksome relatives, hissing and baring his fangs at them, making them scatter. Anathema laughed unrestrainedly, dissolving into shrieking yelps of merriment. Not at all ladylike! A few minutes later, Crowley came sauntering up, hands in his pockets with his usual casual swagger.

“Feel better, dear?”

“Much,” he grinned back before throwing himself in a folding chair with a glass of champagne. For now, he'd be content to people-watch to look for opportunities for mayhem. Still, he felt compelled to temper his impulses. A large speaker looked about ready to fall off its pedestal. No one else saw, but with a flick of his finger it was bolted down securely.

Anathema closed her eyes and braced herself with a quick breath. Crowley created a quick diversion by making the M.C.'s podium collapse. In all that hubbub, Aziraphale quickly and smoothly transformed his daughter into a dainty little tortoiseshell cat. “Fifteen minutes and it will wear off. Understand?”

She meowed up at him and trotted away to hide under a table. She lay down in the cool, frosty grass with a content purr, glad to be away from the headache her extended family and meddling mother had awakened in her. It had been a long day, and it was nowhere near over. She'd just have to slog through. She'd eaten her share of wedding cake plus more than her share of nibbles and wine. Crowley had been surreptitiously keeping the bar and her favorite cocktail snacks stocked; it was his gift to her today. Anathema sighed, flicking an ear with a wide yawn. Fifteen minutes wasn't long, but it was something. And it was more than she could have counted on otherwise. She was grateful to her father for giving her this timeout. What a lovely wedding gift: time. It didn't take long for her head to clear or for her nerves to stop screaming. This was the best! After a time, she rose and stretched, shaking herself off and trotting out.

The first pair of feet Anathema happened across were her own husband's! She rubbed against his ankles with a sweet little mew of hello. He looked down and almost disregarded the creature entirely. Something, however, made him look twice. She flicked her tail at him and pawed at his pant leg. He looked around and picked her up. She butted her head against Newt's chin, purring loudly. He adjusted his hold on her, petting her soft fur.

“Anathema?” He whispered, looking around the area for some sign of her. But no, it was her!

One of Anathema's uncles strolled by, looking as if he were on the hunt. “Newt, do you know where your bride's got to?”

He looked down at the cat in his arms and stroked her. “N-no, not offhand. She was just here a minute ago. Have you checked at the bar?”

“Good idea!” 

Newt and Anathema both breathed a sigh of relief, watching the man's retreating back. It was nearly perfect timing, too. She changed back a second later, knocking them both to the ground. Newt stared up at her bemusedly while she suppressed laughs at his expense. Anathema slid off of him and stood, helping him to his feet. “Hello, Witchfinder Private Newton Pulsifer, Not-A-Computer-Engineer,” she breathed with a quirky smile.

“Hello...Mrs. Anathema Pulsifer, Angel-Witch.” They both shared a giggle over that. “Y'know, I wonder what our ancestors would think of us.”

“I was wondering the same thing. Well, Agnes saw it coming. Adultery might've had a thing or two to say about it, though. His own flesh and blood falling in with witches, with their fiendish womanly wiles!”

Newt pretended to look offended and put on a fake posh accent, “The name is Witchfinder Major Thou-Shalt-_Not_-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer.” They'd taken to incorporating historical reenactments in the bedroom. Anathema had been burned/exploded dozens of times by now, at least in play, and it still never got old. They giggled naughtily at each other in the yurt as dusk fell and the fairy lights were lit.

They sauntered over and sat down next to her stepfather. “Crowley. Dad.” She greeted, nodding at the spotted fluffy rabbit in the man's jacket pocket. Crowley reached in and settled the rabbit in her lap. She gave him a soft cuddle and kiss. “You are so cute! I don't care if it's weird. You're precious.”

Aziraphale had no apparent objection to being handled like this. He wriggled his nose at her and flicked his ears back and forth, twitching his little cotton tail happily as she gave him pets and scritches.

Crowley coughed back a laugh at that. “Dammit, angel, you still have your wiggles even like this. I'm willing to bet you'd still wiggle even if you turned into a turtle or something.” Aziraphale turned and hopped back into his lap, soaking up all this _love_. “Oh, you pretty thing. You pretty thing,” Crowley murmured.

Newt heaved a whining groan as he heard Sergeant Shadwell yoo-hooing for him from across the yard. He'd only just gotten away from him and his meandering talks. Not even Madame Tracy could keep a steady leash on him for long. Newt's head ached, he was tired, he was on the verge of seeing spots. He had even foolishly accepted a sip from a mysterious flask that Crowley had on him. Whatever was in there made his eyes burn red and his hair stand on end! He slouched so Shadwell wouldn't quite see him, but he feared that the older Witchfinder could home in on him like a heat-seeking missile. Without even saying anything, Crowley snapped his fingers. Aziraphale returned, curled up in his lap, and Newt became...a newt. “You're welcome.”

Anathema looked with wide eyes between her amphibious husband and her stepfather. After a quick internal scream, she scooped him up and slipped him onto her shoulder. She gave his head a little pat as he hid amid her hair. It tickled a bit, but she managed to keep a straight face. Luckily, Shadwell stalked elsewhere. Aziraphale had not yet gotten off of his husband's lap. He sat there, his arms around his neck, blushing. Crowley dragged him close by his black tie and kissed him, making his angel squirm pleasantly against him. Anathema had to smile at that, it was obvious that they wouldn't get used to being able to show physical affection for a long time. Everything was still so new! Each touch, each kiss between them was clearly treasured.

“Put him back,” Crowley advised his stepdaughter as soon as it was safe. Once he was back on his seat, the demon tittered and sang. “Oh, we're halfway there. Oohh, lizard on a chair!” Anathema laughed. Aziraphale just looked puzzled. Crowley sneered defensively and brought Newt back to his usual form.

“Wh-what happened?!” he demanded.

“Crowley turned you into a newt.” Anathema paused, then felt morally obligated to add, “You got better.” Then, she and Newt got up and went back to mingling, both of them feeling better for having gotten their brief time-out from the public specter. This system they'd come up with seemed to be working quite well! Aziraphale finally slid off of his husband's lap and ran his fingers through his hair. Right as he was in the middle of straightening up, a stranger weaved his way over to them.

“Aha! I get it now! Y'know, we all wondered why my sister never wanted to tell us much about Anathema's father, but after seeing all that...”

Aziraphale nervously tugged at his jacket, nerves on edge. He shared a look with Crowley before facing Anathema's uncle again. “Wh-what exactly did you see?”

“Just all...that...” he gestured vaguely in their general area. “Before Newt and Ana got up and left.”

“All that?” Crowley questioned. He, too, looked guilty. If this person caught them in the act of transforming someone...

“Hey, I don't mind. Kinda cute, actually.”

“Cute?” Aziraphale spluttered. _Well, they are a family of occultists. Maybe they don't mind a little magic?_

The man just shrugged and said, “I just don't see why she couldn't just tell us you were gay. No big deal. I hope you weren't afraid of what we'd think.”

Aziraphale shook out of that sudden shock, smiling again. “Oh! Oh, yes, that. Well, you never know. I mean, no offense, but...”

“Yeah, Americans. I get it. We're not all like that, though.”

“Good...good...thank you. She was, I admit...a bit of an experiment. I knew afterwards that we didn't quite...mesh.”

Crowley gave him a look and took his hand. “Good thing, too. We _mesh_ much better.”

The uncle wandered off again, swaying a bit. Anathema greeted him inaudibly, but both Aziraphale and Crowley heard him clearly blurt out “Your dads are adorable!”

“Yes, they are, aren't they?”


	3. Nest Building

After the wedding was over and everyone had packed up and gone back home, life was able to return to normal. Only Anathema's mother remained to spend Christmas with them. Fortunately, it was a much calmer affair than the wedding. Aziraphale and Crowley were both invited and welcome to join in with the family festivities, but under no obligation to stay any longer than they liked. Aziraphale especially seemed pleased with the inclusion, and Crowley naturally tagged along, and if Christmas at the Pulsifers' occasionally included a large snake or a fluffy mottled rabbit, Anathema and Newt didn't seem to find it odd. The two creatures were never seen together at the same time, but both seemed tame and affectionate enough to stay Cristina's worries. She'd seen everyone but Crowley actually wearing the snake around their shoulders or curled up in their laps! She therefore deduced that Crowley must be at least somewhat squeamish around snakes. He always seemed to leave the room when it was around. She felt a surge of solidarity with him there. It gave her the shivers. The familiar way Aziraphale and her daughter handled the serpent, even kissing its nose, was more than she could fathom.

“Anathema, how can you handle that filthy creature?”

“He's not filthy, Mom. He's sweet. He just looks mean and tough, but he's really gentle. Besides, it's good luck. He just suffers from a bad reputation.” Crowley flicked his tongue at the tip of her nose at that.

“Exactly right,” Aziraphale chimed in. “Snakes are traditionally a symbol of longevity, prosperity, fertility, and eternal youth. To have favor with a snake is very lucky indeed.”

Cristina offered no further comment. Sure enough, the snake made no motions to harm anyone. It never made the slightest sign of outward aggression, and since Aziraphale had mentioned before that he was the bookshop's pet then she figured he must be well-behaved. Several shops and bodegas back home had “shop animals” that belonged to the owners and would often be a draw for customers rather than the reverse. After giving some thought to that, she gave him a cautious pat on the head.

“So, what's his name?” she finally asked as it writhed around her chair.

Aziraphale, Anathema, and Newt all looked at each other, then at the snake, then at Cristina. “Uh. Sweetums,” he hazarded.

Crowley's head snapped up, his bright yellow eyes glaring at his husband. He felt his scales crinkle in annoyance and he flicked out his tongue. _Sweetums?! Oh, I'll get you!_

A few moments later, the snake disappeared and Crowley came back out into the living room. He threw himself into a chair just in time to have Aziraphale hop into his lap in rabbit form. He pet him and scratched his ears, tickled his chin and made little kissing noises at him.

“Oh, it's a good thing Az...Aza...Alexis put Sweetums away. I'd hate for that snake to get your rabbit! What's his name, anyway?” Cristina reached over to pet him, but the rabbit shyly ducked down, his ears flat against his body. She took that as a cue and sat back down. As soon as she did, the rabbit sat back up and relaxed.

Crowley grinned evilly, looking straight into Aziraphale's eyes. The angel knew he was going to get his just and rightful due for the silly name he gave him. “Mister Fluffkins. How's my Mister Fluffy-Wuffykins, hmm? Who's a good, pretty, soft boy? Yes, you are, oh yes you are!” He cooed demonically. Then, in more genuine tones, he spoke soothingly. “There, now. It's all right. Just me. That's my pretty thing. I love you.”

Aziraphale didn't seem to care a bit about the diminutive title. He wriggled happily in perfect content. He stood up adorably on his hind legs, letting his forepaws dangle in front of him as Crowley kissed his head.

Once they got home, Aziraphale and Crowley unconsciously brushed themselves off, as if to rid themselves of clinging human germs. It had been an overall pleasant visit. The wines they'd brought to contribute to the meal had been appreciated by all, everyone's gifts seemed to hit right on the mark, and their running game of menagerie was indeed more of a game than a coping mechanism this time. Still, there was no place like home!

“Sweetums?” Crowley drawled with a raised eyebrow.

“Mister Fluffkins?” Aziraphale returned fussily, feigning offense.

They stood, arms crossed at each other before dissolving into giggles. Crowley leaned forward with an evil grin, gave his husband a kiss and pat on the bottom and said, “Good night, Mister Fluffkins.”

“Sweet dreams, Sweetums.”

Soon, the holidays were over, causing everyone to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Things leveled out once more. At least once a week, Anathema would stop by the bookshop to pore over any child-rearing books that Aziraphale might have in stock.

“You know, they only sell because they all say opposite things,” Aziraphale grumbled, not wanting his daughter to get taken in by any malarkey. “This one's high on the merits of discipline. That one preaches a more laissez-faire approach. Like diet guides and other self-help books. Just mind what sources you follow. I won't say any more on the subject.” He also sounded annoyed that he now had to actually sell books in order to not look too strange to the villagers. What Crowley had told him was true: he could get away with being peculiar in London. Here was another story. Especially if he was to have a family here, he didn't want to soil their reputation any worse than it already had been.

“I just want to be a good mom. I don't want the baby to get messed up too much,” Anathema explained, brushing her hair out of her face. “My upbringing was...unconventional at best.”

Aziraphale looked at her sadly, guilty once again that he'd abandoned them. “Did your mother mess you up?”

She looked up from her book and took in his expression. “No! Oh, no. Well...no more than most mothers do, I'm sure. I don't blame you for anything. There's nothing to blame you for, all right? You came into my life when you were needed.”

“Ah yes, how fortuitous. Just in time for Crowley to run you over.”

“If he hadn't run me over, you wouldn't have gotten the book and found out where the Antichrist was, Newt wouldn't have been sent down to investigate, it's all endless ripples. Besides, when he did hit me, you fixed my broken arm and bike.”

Aziraphale chuckled shortly at that. “Fixed it a little too well at first, didn't I? I am sorry for giving you such a fright that night.”

She shrugged, brushing his sleeve. “I knew I was safe. That was the strangest part. The whole time, I...I just knew I was safe.”

There was nothing else he could say about that, so he pulled out a sheet of blank paper and a pen. “So, have you thought of names yet?”

“No. I don't really want to plan that, you know? My mom picked my name because she didn't know what the word meant, but she thought it was pretty and it appeared in the book. I'd rather not saddle my kid with a name like...that...” she grimaced. She'd made her peace with her unusual, malevolent-sounding name, but she still wasn't that fond of it. “I think I'll know when I meet them.”

Aziraphale put the paper and pen away with a nod. “That seems a good way to go about it. We'll avoid laying the child with maledictions this early. Will your mother be flying out again for the birth?”

“Probably not. She invited me and Newt and the baby to come visit her at her house.” They exchanged a look that said _that's not going to happen_. “She might come back out just to help get _nested_ but I'd really rather not have her here on the actual day. I love her, but she stresses me out and can't seem to treat me like a grownup.” Anathema groaned, as if just the thought of her mother was giving her a headache. “I helped save the freaking world, I have a degree in history, I'm married, I have a baby on the way, I moved clear across the globe by myself, but to her I'll always be nine years old.”

Aziraphale put an arm around her and drew her in for a cuddle, patting her back. “I'm sorry. I can sort of relate to some of that. Everyone...up there,” he flicked his eyes to the ceiling, “insisted on treating me like I'm incompetent, like I didn't matter.” His voice faded on a sad note.

Anathema leaned her head against his shoulder and patted his knee. “I know you matter. If they're all like the guy I saw, they're idiots.” They laughed together over this. “Fuck them. You know what you're doing. It's nice having a parent who doesn't underestimate me.”

“You're only the second person not to underestimate me.”

“No, really?! In 6,000 years, Crowley and I are the only ones who've taken you seriously?” He nodded thoughtfully. “Wow. I'm sorry.”

He shrugged, trying to look like it didn't matter. “I'm used to it.”

“You shouldn't have to be.”

Aziraphale forced himself to perk up, if only to reassure his daughter that he was all right, really. “Well, I don't have to answer to them anymore. It's been really nice, actually. All this Apocalypse business being well and truly over. They left me alone before then, they're leaving me alone now, and since I'm officially off the clock I don't even have to check in with them anymore! I'm 100% freelance. I only have to do good...or not so good,” he gave a broad shrug, “as a hobby. Oh! It's been months and I still feel so much relief to be away! They haven't come hunting around, snooping for me. Crowley and I gave our respective offices enough of a scare to make them think twice before calling on us. I think...I really think we're safe.”

In all her years as an occultist, Anathema had never heard of an angel being afraid of other angels before, but if they were all like his asshole boss, she could see why he'd be glad to be away from them.

Shortly after she left, Adam Young and the Them came scurrying in. They were a familiar and welcome sight. They might be noisy and have hundreds of rapid-fire questions, but they were regular patrons of his bookshop. They never made a mess or ruined his precious books, and they all seemed to have an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Aziraphale even allowed them to buy his books on occasion! Adam pulled up the tall stool that Anathema had just vacated. “Hello, Mr. Crowley-Fell.” The others chimed in their hellos as well. “Can you help us? We want to know everything.”

Weeks later, Aziraphale locked up at 1:30, flipped the sign to Closed and drew the shade down. He'd made special provision for the door to always let Anathema in, but no one else. Alone at last, He made his way to the back area where Crowley lounged comfortably on the ancient sofa. They smiled at each other, full of cozy familiarity before snuggling in together.

“You know, Crowley, I still can't thank you enough for teaching me that...you know, rabbit trick.”

“Saved you a couple of times by now, hasn't it? When you've gotten all _peopled_ out.” Crowley observed languidly. He'd even seen him do it in the shop when there were too many customers! He'd taken his snake form often enough that people in town really did think the bookshop hosted a pet snake. He was a surprising favorite member of the village! While neither allowed just anyone to touch or handle them, shoppers were eager to see if they would catch a glimpse of the rabbit or the snake this time.

“If there's anything I can do to repay you...” Aziraphale trailed off, snuggling close, feeling so contented!

Crowley wrapped his arms around his husband, thinking seriously about what had just been offered. “Well...there is...If you promise not to laugh.”

“You don't laugh at me in my bunny disguise. I think I owe you the same courtesy.”

“You make an adorable rabbit,” Crowley told him, nuzzling the top of his head with a growl. Aziraphale flushed with pleasure at that. It was an odd compliment, but he was willing to take it. Suddenly, Crowley stopped short, as if something important just occurred to him. “Hang on, the rabbit thing was your first time transforming?”

“Yes. Why?”

Crowley looked at his husband, then off into space like he was trying to do long division in his head. “Then that wasn't you?!”

Aziraphale looked equally confused. It was certainly putting a damper on the mood. “What wasn't me, dearest?”

“On the ark. You know, back then.”

The angel rolled his eyes, as if there was any other ark to be confused with. “Well, I was _on_ the ark, as I recall we both stowed away.”

“But...but...weren't you one of the doves? That wasn't you I was talking to for all that time we were out at sea?!”

“No...? As far as I can recall, our paths didn't cross. I assumed you were angry with me as proxy of the Almighty for causing the flood in the first place. I was actually rather hurt, to be honest. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to.”

Crowley looked flabbergasted, betrayed! “You mean to tell me I spent six lousy months in the damned hold talking to a fucking bird and it wasn't even you?! I told that dove _everything!_ Stuff I never told anyone! I vividly described my Fall, for fuck's sake! Struck me as rude that you never replied or even bothered to show yourself. In the end, I rationalized you were probably being watched, so that's why you didn't dare.”

They both sat up on the sofa with befuddled grimaces, not sure whether to be pissed off with each other or to laugh at their ridiculous assumptions.

“Well,” Aziraphale sighed, “good thing that didn't put us off striking up a friendship later on. I am glad of that.”

“Yeah. Me, too, angel.” They let out badly-suppressed sniggers and nuzzled their foreheads together, all anger from thousands of years ago past.

Aziraphale figured it best to bring the conversation back around after their tangent. “So, what did you have in mind?”

Crowley gazed long and hard at him, flicking out his tongue thoughtfully. “A most gratifying torment. I admit, it's a bit weird.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, “How weird? Look, dear boy, I promise not to laugh at you. If it's within reason, I'm more than willing to, uh...facilitate.” He knew he had nothing to worry about, but when he was nervous his speech automatically slipped into more formal cadences. Luckily, Crowley understood; something that inevitably comes of knowing someone for as long as he did. 

“Just...it's...unconventional, I guess. You don't hear about this sort of thing being...a thing.” Crowley dragged his feet in owning up to his secret fantasy. It was one thing for his husband to offer him carte blanche, but he still felt honor-bound to warn him of his...unusual tastes.

Now slightly wary, the angel stroked his shoulder. “Come now, be sensible and tell me. I might enjoy it as much as you do, and am just as afraid to ask for it. Maybe I've wanted this just as long as you have, have you thought of that?”

Crowley chuckled, as if he considered that possibility highly unlikely! “You really trust me, angel?”

Aziraphale gave a cozy squirm with a would-be evil grin. He leaned towards him as best as he could and whispered huskily, “I trust you. Torment me. Demon.”

That was all the reassurance that Crowley needed. He slid right on top of his husband, yellow eyes boring deep into hazel ones. A very _tempted_ grin crept up his face. “I want...I've wanted to do this for ages, actually.”

A thrill went up Aziraphale's spine, he grinned back giddily, curious what was in store for him. He was certain that it involved him in a big way. “Oh?” He squirmed in anticipation, further goading the demon on with his _wiggles_.

“Mmm...” Crowley groaned, kissing Aziraphale's slightly upturned nose. Then he did it again, and again...This was all it took to make his wings spring out with a loud, relieved groan! He slipped his hands underneath to grab at his husband's plush, yielding bottom. He squeezed and caressed as Aziraphale wriggled in delight, moving his body in time to their rhythm.

“Oh! What...what are you...doing?! Mmmf! Crowley...Really, such a fuss.”

“I'm going...to kiss...that adorable nose of yours... angel... for all the times... I've wanted to over the...last few centuries. And I'm not...going to stop...until you say...our safe word. You remember our...safe word?” His talk was broken up as he covered Aziraphale's nose with hungry kisses. 

_Ducks_ Aziraphale thought, determined not to say it until he meant it. “Mmm, yes...yes I do. Oh...oh my...” It was the strangest sensation. He kept waiting for more, it was winding him up. The kissing was nice, of course, but it was certainly whetting his appetite for _more_. He vaguely wondered if that was part of the idea. Part of the reason for the safe word. He lay there, taking it, frustrated at his stymied attempts to kiss back. Crowley's hands slid upwards, drawing up along his sides, his hips and waist, grasping covetously over his damnably enticing curves. There they were, both fully dressed, performing the most chaste expressions of their desire, yet Aziraphale felt positively _naughty._

“Oh, stop! Stop it, please!” Aziraphale begged, his words belied by him actually butting his head toward Crowley's face for more.

“Mmm, say the magic word then.”

Instead, Aziraphale's wings sprang out as well, fully exposing his eagerness. He strained and flapped. “No, don't. Don't stop. Oooh, I'm a _bad _angel!”

With a surge of gratified energy, Crowley pushed them both off of the couch and a second later they were standing. Crowley pressed Aziraphale firmly to the wall as they writhed against each other pleasurably. The angel's periodic protests only urged him on. Crowley apparently _had_ been wanting to do this for “a while”, as he said. Scores of nose-kisses later and he was still insatiable. Transfixed. Obsessed. He paused to admire the blond man, that angelically smug smile on his face as he received his “punishment.” The way he gazed eagerly back at his demonic tormentor suggested that he had no problem with playing rough. In fact, he welcomed it!

Crowley gave him another forceful shove, as if asserting his dominance, while they both knew that Aziraphale was the one who was really in charge of the situation. “You've got...the cutest nose...it's not fair! Have you any idea how long...I've wanted to do this? How many times...I've had to stop...myself from...doing this?” They only paused for a moment, and they both looked up at the ceiling...then each other, they had the same idea. They took flight, pressing against the ceiling with a loud _thump!_ as they continued their activity upside-down. 

They slid across the ceiling, hovering along and they somehow managed to make it into the upstairs bedroom without setting foot on the floor. There Crowley threw his husband down on the bed and growled low. "I've been...so good...up til now. You've been tempting me...for thousands of years...I've _yearned_ for you...every last inch of you...for all this time...and I never laid a hand on you." 

"Pity. I could have used...an infernal touch...now and then...Could've feathered a n-nice...little nest before now. St-stop it, you're so dramatic...persistent! And no...no magic word. Don't stop...But please...please..." 

Crowley quieted him with a kiss on the mouth, they were both just awash with pleasure and passion, then Crowley returned to his previous activity of taking out thousands of years of frustration on a thoroughly-kissed nose. “Listen to you,” he rumbled. “Oh, you're a _bad_ angel! Begging for it from a demon. I'll make you _smell_ like a demon!”

Aziraphale wriggled suggestively beneath his thorough peppering of kisses. He was starting to wonder if he'd have any nose left by the end of this. "How many times are you...going to do this...Crowley?" 

"Millions..." 

"Oh...oh my..." It was good for him as well, it certainly took his mind off of any stress he'd been under lately. It was, strangely enough, just what Aziraphale needed. A good mock-struggle and some loving. He was right on the edge of what he could handle. His foot twitched, kicking the footboard rapidly.

“Easy there, Thumper. Don't break a hip,” Crowley smirked wickedly. “Upstairs isn't likely to issue you a new body. Got to make this one last.”

After another hour, Aziraphale finally had enough and patted Crowley's shoulder. "Ducks, ducks!" Crowley obediently stopped short, and they both sank down into the bed, curled up together with very smug grins plastered on their faces. Aziraphale looked like he wouldn't be able to walk for a week, Crowley could practically see the stars circling his head along with that silly grin and was damn proud that he put it there. "Mmm, Crowley?" 

"Hmm?" 

"What can I ever do for you? You're...you're absolutely marvelous." 

"I like doing this for you. I'm happy that you're happy. Don't worry about returning the favor. You do. In ways I can't even count. Technically, this was you doing me a favor!"

“I never knew that could be so good,” Aziraphale sighed, starry-eyed and pleasantly dizzy.

“So, now...what do _you_ want?”

Aziraphale rubbed his cheek against Crowley's shoulder and purred into his ear. “Get thee behind me, foul fiend!”

“With pleasure,” came his sultry reply. The mattress squeaked as they readjusted themselves. Aziraphale was now lying on his stomach. “And what am I doing back here?” Crowley asked inquisitively, stroking his husband's backside.

“Mmm, I think I need a little more punishment. I'm such a _wicked_ angel, after all.”

“You are...” Crowley agreed, giving him a sharp spank.

“Harder...” Aziraphale urged, surprising himself at how much he enjoyed this! “Make me learn my lesson, demon.”

Crowley was equally surprised. He wouldn't have anticipated that his oldest companion would have such a _divergent_ streak! He gave him a harder spank. “Oh, yes. Tell me your sins, my sweet little petit four. We'll make such a Heaven out of Hell together.”

Downstairs, Anathema and Newt let themselves in despite the closed sign and drawn shade. The lights were on inside and Aziraphale kept saying they could come over any time. They heard a soft _thump_ from upstairs and saw a brief shower of feathers flutter down through the cracks overhead. Sated giggles, sighs, and growls...then footsteps. Anathema and Newt exchanged concerned looks with each other. Crowley was first to come down the stairs, with Aziraphale following close behind, unsteady as a newborn fawn.

“Sure you can walk already after that?”

“Ye-heesss...I think so. Should be fine. Soon as the floor stops moving. Mmm...” Then, as one, they both froze, staring guiltily at their unexpected guests. Anathema and Newt looked back just as uncomfortably at seeing these two in the middle of their afterglow. “Oh! You, um...you didn't hear that.” Aziraphale said weakly. Even in their exposed embarrassment, however, neither of the occult beings could keep their eyes off each other for long, or those unmistakably satisfied grins off their faces. Titters broke out.

“Uh, yeah, pay no attention to the people on the staircase. The Great Oz has spoken,” Crowley improvised in a spooky voice, waving his hands in the air.

Anathema pointed back at the door behind them. “Looks like we're interrupting something. We probably better go. Leave you to it.”

“Have fun,” Newt added in awkward farewell.

“Already have,” Crowley smirked, swaggering down the stairs with effortless grace while Aziraphale followed after him as if he were still on the deck of a storm-tossed galleon. He clutched the railing with one hand and the wall with the other, slowly getting his legs back.

“N-no, it's fine, we finished...Oh, lord, you didn't need to hear that. Sorry,” Aziraphale sputtered, blushing as he reached the bottom of the stairs to meet them. Crowley appeared maddeningly unaffected by their visitors. It didn't seem to bother him in the slightest after their initial fright wore off.

“Oh, yeah, do come in and sit down. Make yourselves at home,” he drawled, giving Aziraphale a smart smack on the bottom. The recipient gasped, then lowered his eyelashes and bit his lip pleasurably.

“You're sure?” Newt asked, still feeling as though they were in uncharted waters. “No round two?” Anathema swatted him and the other two just looked scalded by the suggestion.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale agreed, smiling and nodding. “I'll...just make some tea.”

Crowley flung himself into his chair near the front counter, the other two drew up similar seats. Their new location offered considerably more seating than the old one. They'd decided that it might be advantageous to actually encourage people to visit and browse comfortably in the shop.

He was vaguely aware that there were people talking, but he gazed steadily through the doorway to the kitchenette with an infatuated sigh. Then, Crowley shook himself.

“Sorry, what was I saying?”

Anathema cleared her throat.“_I _was saying that Newt and I were planning how soon after the baby is born to have a naming ceremony, and you were staring slack-jawed at my dad's ass.”

“Oh, right. That. Good. Good...” he trailed off, mind wandering again.

Aziraphale had overheard everything. He gave a flirty little twitch and added, “It must be.”

This got a shocked laugh out of Anathema, whose grimace was unconvincing. “Oh, god! You two! I keep forgetting that you're in your honeymoon phase, too. I can't imagine how I'd behave after as long as you guys had to wait.” She gave Newt a look, hoping that they would be able to keep the same sparks in their marriage throughout a normal human lifespan that these two maintained over the centuries.

“All right, all right. We're done. We'll behave,” Crowley promised. “Be good, angel,” he called into the next room. “Not in front of the kids.”

“Tickety-boo, dear,” Aziraphale confirmed as he brought out tea for everyone. “Now, this is nice and cozy, isn't it?”

Anathema wrapped her hands around her cup, her eyes sliding from her father to her stepfather with a tiny smile of amusement. She slid off her shoes and ran her toes up her husband's pant leg as her smile grew more wicked. His eyebrows flickered and he gave a little gasp, surprised at her public boldness. Still, he didn't look as if he disapproved. He put his arm around her shoulders and stroked her arm. Somehow, catching these two unawares had broken down a barrier of social mores. It was nice, the feeling that they could be fairly straightforward with each other.

“I am sorry for barging in like this,” she offered. As strange as it was to admit, they were a very cute couple. It was a rare enough thing to see a couple still this in love after knowing each other for a long time. It was unlikely that they'd ever get bored of each other.

“Nah, don't worry. We'd finished up. Besides, it wasn't even anything like that. I just spent the last hour and a half kissing him half to death. He didn't even undo his tie!” Aziraphale nodded with a smug smile, still looking rather starry-eyed from the ordeal.

Tea shot out Anathema's nose at that. Newt was still absently adding sugar to his cup, to the point that even Sergeant Shadwell would have thought it was too sweet. Anathema laid her hand on his to stop him, then poured his cup into a potted plant and gave him a refresher. Crowley looked momentarily scandalized at the treatment of his plant, then waved it off. Maybe tea was good for plants, even with all of the added sugar.

“So...we were thinking...none of us are all that religious...which is weird, considering,” Anathema smirked as she looked back and forth between the very flirty gentlemen in front of her. “I mean, how can anyone really _know_ what the 'right' religion even is? Newt and I figure it's easier and simpler to just not be an asshole.” Aziraphale and Crowley nodded at each other, wholly agreeing with Anathema's personal religion. It certainly seemed the most straightforward method, and both were sure that God would approve of that path. “So it's not going to be a baptism or a christening, but we thought we'd have a nice naming ceremony for the baby after we've all recovered. That's assuming it all goes well.”

“I'm sure you'll all be fine, my dear,” Aziraphale professed. “You've been healthy thus far, so hopefully there won't be any...um...”

“Complications?” Newt suggested. The utterance of that grim word left a chill in the room. “Sorry,” he whispered, worried he'd once again said the wrong thing. Anathema patted his hand reassuringly and gave him a smile. It made his courage return. “I mean, it'll be fine, right?”

“Should be, as long as _They _don't decide to meddle. Too bad St. Beryl's isn't in operation anymore,” Crowley observed dryly. “I mean, sure, they screwed up the _one_ job they had to do, and they were a Satanic order, and none of them were all that competent...Yeah, good thing St. Beryl's isn't in operation anymore.” Aziraphale groaned tiredly, clapping a hand over his face at the abrupt about-face Crowley's thoughts took. 

“Although, if we wanted to go out and play paintball afterward, we know just the place,” Aziraphale added helpfully.

“Just don't wear your favorite coat next time,” Crowley reminded him.

“So...naming ceremony. Yes. Now, you told me earlier that you were going to wait until after the baby was born to consider names.”

Anathema shrugged, “We're thinking about some, nothing final yet, but basically trying to find a way not to piss anyone off. I'm not naming the baby after anything in the prophesies. I'm actually glad the prophesies are all burned up, I'm not tying my kid to that...legacy. That chapter is finally done.”

“Good thinking,” Aziraphale praised. “I'm sure you find it a relief to be able to be your own person.”

“It takes some getting used to. I can't say my upbringing encouraged any decision-making skills that didn't involve a 400-year dead witch. I'm learning, though. And I'm getting used to not leaving my tablet around.” She gave Newt a fond, yet accusatory look. She tempered it with a playful nudge. Anathema had never been too tech-savvy. She used a tablet and smartphone to meet her computer needs, so there was no fear of Newt accidentally cursing anything by handling it. “I don't mind it. I think it's cute,” she assured him, getting a smile out of him at last.

She then leaned over the table and grasped her father figures' hands. Her voice shook on a little sob and tears leaked out. Aziraphale and Crowley looked askance at each other at her sudden emotional display. All they could do was grasp back. “I really don't know how I'd do this without you both. I love my mom, but you've just been a relief. You can give advice or listen or whatever without being condescending about it. Plus, I don't feel any _pressure_ to behave a certain way. It's nice. Oh, god, look at me, I'm being so silly,” she breathed shakily, embarrassed at crying over apparently nothing. Rather than allow her to wrest her hand free, Newt proved he was ready for anything by whipping out a large white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his wife's face. He was getting used to these emotional spikes. They were becoming more frequent and pronounced as her pregnancy progressed.   
Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other again with comfortable smiles, they were both pleased that they were doing so well at this, glad that they could provide her some relief.

“Well, we're glad we don't annoy you...yet,” Crowley answered. “We never worry about how we behave, either. Do we, angel?”

“Oh, I don't know. You keep me well-behaved.” Aziraphale gave him a naughty grin and a meaningful eyebrow-flick in response. “Although, if we do start grating on you, we can back off if needed. Once the novelty has worn off and our foibles become more irksome than endearing. We won't take it personally,” Aziraphale added optimistically. This got a skeptical look from his husband.

They carried on their visit for another hour before Newt and Anathema took their leave. As they walked down the lane toward their house, Newt took his wife's hand and observed, “Your dads sure love you. Especially considering they didn't even know you existed until less than a year ago.”

“They've accepted you, too. That's high praise coming from them. You're enough of a misfit to fit right in.” She bumped shoulders with him as they walked up their path.

“Yeah. It's nice.”

Anathema felt like she ought to add, “I like your mom, too. And I think she likes me.” They both recalled that Newt's mother was one person nobody felt compelled to hide from at the wedding reception. She struck everybody as happy, welcoming, and down-to-earth. A welcome change from the rather large personalities in the room.

Newt scoffed. “Are you kidding? She adores you. Frankly, I don't think she ever expected me to find someone.”

“Oh, so she's just happy to get you out of the house at last?” Anathema teased.

“Must be it,” Newt played along before leaning in to kiss her.

Back at the bookshop, Aziraphale leaned back comfortably in his seat, Crowley gave his back and shoulders a scratch while they just enjoyed the pensive quiet. Then, breaking the silence, Aziraphale gave a little laugh, as if he just thought of something amusing.

“Hmm? What, angel?”

“Oh. I just thought of something nice to do for Anathema. I've been reading up on pregnancy.”

“You mother hen,” Crowley groaned derisively.

“And I might've just done a teensy little miracle on her fridge,” the angel smirked naughtily.

Late that night at Jasmine Cottage, Anathema woke up annoyed. Distracting thoughts were keeping her from falling back asleep. Of all the ridiculous...! And here I was thinking that it was something that only happened in movies. But no, she suddenly had the weirdest craving...For lemon wedges dipped in salt. She'd never even done tequila shots, so she had no idea where that one came from! Anathema grumbled, knowing it was no good thinking about it. Maybe tomorrow she could run to the store. But the thought still nagged her. She muffled a groan and rolled over, yanking the covers roughly. Newt woke up and squinted at her.

“You all right?”

“No...” she groused. She could be as melodramatic as her father if she put her mind to it.

“'Sallright, I'm up. What do you need?”

Anathema scrunched up her face grumpily. “We don't have any on hand. It doesn't matter.”

Newt sat all the way up and stroked her back. “Let me go check. Mum warned me about cravings last time we talked. What's it for? Something weird?” He almost sounded hopeful, as if he finally got to live this particular cliché.

“Just plain lemon wedges with salt. That sounds amazing right now.”

If anything, her husband was a bit disappointed that it wasn't anything more outlandish. “I'll run down and see.” He kissed her hair. “Be right back.”

She heard him puttering around downstairs, opening drawers, a light clinking sound. Only then did Anathema feel bad about whining to her husband. He was offering to help! She twisted around so she faced down the stairs and called “There's no way in Hell we have lemons on hand, Newt. Just come back to bed and we'll go shopping to...morrow...” she trailed off in stunned disbelief. Her husband handed her a small dish of sliced lemons with coarse salt cracked over them. She gave him a look like she would marry him all over again if he asked! She tore into them, stripping the juicy flesh off the rinds like they were oranges, moaning pleasurably the whole time.

“How...in the world...” she asked, wiping her chin on the back of her hand when she was done. Newt took the bowl back downstairs and set it in the sink. He came back up, feeling like some sort of hero.

“There was a whole bag of them just sitting on the top shelf next to the milk. Are you sure you didn't buy them earlier?”

“Pretty sure. I think...”

Newt shrugged, straightening the covers and lying back down to sleep. “Well, maybe it sounded good earlier and you bought them then and forgot about them. I've done that. That's how we got four courgettes in the space of a day and a half. ”

“Maybe...” she allowed, although she looked like she had a better idea. It would take some experimenting.

The next morning, Anathema went downstairs to inspect the refrigerator. She opened it, jumping back as if she expected something to leap out at her. But no, there sat her bag of lemons, just where Newt said they were. She picked one up and ran her fingers over the skin. It was perfectly plump and ripe, just chilled, with fragrant oil still standing out on the skin. Perfect. She put it back, her eyebrows still cocked curiously. With a slightly determined-looking scowl, she gave a thought to how a nice bowl of ice cream sounded like just the perfect breakfast. Chocolate chip. Something she hadn't had since she was a kid. She opened up the freezer...and there front and center was a carton of chocolate chip ice cream. She smiled, plucking it off the icy shelf with a pleased-sounding hum. She smiled sneakily as she scooped out a dish of it, feeling worlds better now that she had her treat.

Crowley sauntered into the bookshop at dawn from his evening prowl of mischief. He kissed his husband on the head as he passed his favorite reading chair with a satisfied chuckle. “Think she noticed yet?”

“Oh, she must have done,” Aziraphale said certainly. “From what I've read, any number of bizarre combinations could manifest themselves. She may be human, but she's not an idiot.”

“And it only works on her cravings, yeah? She can't just use it to do her shopping.”

“Yes, that's the limitation. I'm sure she'll discover that on her own.”

“Good thinking, can't make it too big or someone will notice.”

Aziraphale wriggled self-consciously. “I just wanted a way to take care of her.”

“And it was very sweet of you,” came Anathema's voice over his shoulder. She bent over and kissed her father on the cheek before stepping out in front of him. “I figured it was one of you, I couldn't quite decide which at first.”

“That was all mother hen over here, nothing to do with me,” Crowley had to make that abundantly clear. Despite being an elevated demon, he still didn't want it to get out that he was responsible for good deeds.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, you're welcome. Now, as you probably heard, there are some limitations on what it will do.”

“Only whatever crackhead cravings I get. And probably only when going to the store like a sane person isn't an option. I understand. You're a life saver.”

Aziraphale beamed, lighting the room with his smile. Crowley actually had to avert his eyes lest he be affected by his _sparkles_. “No trouble at all, my dear. Just don't draw attention, you know. It wouldn't do if...word got out.”

“Oh, sure, I totally get it. What?” Anathema noticed the angel was looking at her funny, thoughtfully.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just...I like the way you talk. It really is like Americans sound in films. I didn't know people actually spoke like that.”

“Well, I didn't know people actually spoke like something out of a PBS period film.”

Crowley grimaced disgustedly, “They don't. Only him.”

Aziraphale pouted at his husband. “Someone's a grouch today. Didn't you perform enough mayhem last night?”

“Nah, ju...y...ugh...never mind.”

Anathema apparently divined what was wrong. “I'm intruding again. I'm sorry. I'll leave you two be. I just wanted to say thank you. Both of you.” She gave Crowley a lingering look that suggested she still suspected his participation in her miracled fridge.

He shrugged, slouching, but he smiled at her. “Hey, it's what we do. Apparently.”


	4. Insecurities and Assurances

For the rest of her pregnancy, Anathema (and Newt) became increasingly grateful for the charm Aziraphale put on their refrigerator. Whatever oddball orders her body put in, they'd find it front and center. She wondered how much her father was aware of it happening. Once, Newt came to the book shop alone and just fell on Aziraphale's shoulders, thanking him profusely. The angel gave his son-in-law an awkward pat on the back as he absorbed his gratitude, glad that he didn't know what Anathema was like when in one of “those moods”.

“Oh, it's no trouble. I'm glad I could—”

“You've saved both our lives, I swear,” Newt gushed gratefully.

“I'm sure that's an exaggeration, but I'm happy to help. Hold on, she's not...mistreating you, is she?” Aziraphale looked worried all of a sudden, not sure what to do if there was a legitimate problem brewing under the Pulsifers' roof. He led Newt to the back room for a more comfortable place to talk. He poured them each a drink and they settled in.

“What? Oh! No, not really. Just...you know how pregnancy affects people.”

With a transparently blank face, Aziraphale flicked his eyes guiltily from side to side, opening and closing his mouth in confusion. “Um, apparently not. I was aware of the cravings, I learned that from reading up on the matter. Wh...what else? Frankly, I got as far as the cravings before I couldn't read any farther. All that...business about bodily fluids and such...most upsetting!” He shuddered at the memory.

“It's just mood swings. Anathema can't help it. She's not enjoying it, either. She always apologizes afterward. Some days are good, other days it's like she's under some dem—uh...” Newt stopped himself, biting his tongue. Most normal people would understand that his suggestion that she was under demonic influence was just another hyperbole. Aziraphale and Crowley would take it much more seriously. “I didn't mean that. Sorry.”

Aziraphale bristled, but forced a smile and let the matter go. “I know. And she's not, we check.”

Newt nodded. “It's just hormones. This whole business is just giving her a rather large dose. I hate to see her unhappy, especially when I can't do anything to fix it. It's funny, before now, Anathema always thought that this was all a myth perpetuated by the media to make women look crazy. This threw her for a loop, too!”

“But she has family members who've had children. Did she think they were faking symptoms?” 

Pausing to sip his drink, Newt shrugged. “Maybe she wasn't in close touch with them at the time. Or maybe they didn't fill her in on all the...unpleasantness.”

Aziraphale looked slightly perplexed; he swirled his glass and sipped as well. “I always thought Americans were much more straightforward about these sorts of things. They keep calling us repressed about...personal biology.” That was as much as he or Newt were comfortable to say out loud, and it showed. “Well, I'm glad my little refrigerator miracle has helped.”

“It's wonderful. Thank you, from both of us,” Newt assured him. “All three of us, I suppose,” he added with a chuckle. “You're giving Baby Pulsifer whatever they're hungry for.”

“Hmm, yes,” Aziraphale replied lightly. “I...I do hope I'm going about this the right way. I...I have no idea what I'm doing, to be honest.”

“None of us do.”

“Then how...how do...excuse the term, humans know what to do?” The idea that people plunge themselves into a situation with very little helpful information was hellishly baffling to the angel.

Newt shrugged, “We don't. We just sort of do the best we can and hope we don't mess up too badly.”

“But...but humans have been the dominant species on Earth for thousands of years! In all that time, _somebody_ is bound to have come up with the right way to handle these...personal matters.” With a slight shudder, Aziraphale tried to distance himself from such difficulties. Glad not for the first time that he wasn't a human, despite his affinity and affection for them as a species.

Aziraphale and Crowley both maintained to be a very present fixture in Anathema's home life during the countdown to her due date. One or both of them were with her in her house, or she was just as often found haunting the bookshop. Shopping for new clothes proved to be quite an adventure, given their varying tastes. Anathema and Aziraphale both veered toward more old-fashioned styles which weren't always easy to shop for. Crowley kept coming out with much sleeker, less practical suggestions. As much as Anathema appreciated his input, she ended up favoring her father's suggestions, dressing for comfort and long-lasting quality as well as ease of care over style in this case. She assured Crowley that once she had the baby and lost some of the weight, she would be more inclined to use him as a shopping assistant.

“Oh, stop pouting, you love it,” Aziraphale scolded as the three of them left the clothing store.

Crowley still wrinkled his nose with a sneer, “Still no way to make a statement. It's bad enough that you dress like old furniture, now you're corrupting the younger generation with your comfy revolution.” He looked as though soft, stretchy, cozy clothes were an affront to his sensibilities. The mere sight of fleece slipper socks would probably give him the vapors. Still, he drew Aziraphale in for a cuddle, not objecting nearly as much to his husband's _comfy_ attire as he appeared. 

Occasionally, they would do a group video chat with her mother in California, just to keep her in the loop and involved. It was all getting rather exciting! Cristina was full of motherly advice and sympathy, it seemed as though this was the best possible medium to be in contact with her. In spite of everything, Anathema did love her mother and value being in touch with her. It was just equally nice to have her on another continent.

This whole business was beginning to take a toll on the supernatural entities. They'd retired for the day in their lounge with several bottles of wine. Aziraphale flung himself into the sofa with a groan. Crowley draped himself in as if he were in liquid state, slipping cozily around him in a reassuring cuddle. He kissed his brow and nuzzled him.

“I'm...still so glad you're really here,” he breathed.

Aziraphale looked at him, seeing the shadows of pain and loss that were still faintly etched in his husband's face. “Darling...” he sighed, bringing a hand to his cheek. “I--”

“Don't apologize,” Crowley cut him off. “As if you asked to be discorporated and...all that.” Still, the memory of that day chilled him. He couldn't _feel_ him anywhere, and he could always feel him! The shop in burning ruins, truly his personal Hell, Crowley gulped back a sob and clung to him tightly. The number of times he panicked, fearing something had _happened_ since then! It was more than his reputation could bear! “I'm just so glad you're here. I don't know what I would have done.”

Aziraphale straightened up, drawing Crowley deeper into his embrace. He stroked him and made soothing shushing noises. In the past several months since the canceled apocalypse, he'd noticed that Crowley had made...unusual choking noises during moments of thoughtful silence, acquired a tendency to gaze at him without saying why. He never slept by himself anymore, either. Unless he had his beloved by his side, within touching distance, he'd just lie there awake. All of those little cues that he was changed by the experience, while at the same time devoted to helping Aziraphale feel safe. 

“I know what you mean. When I think of the times we argued, I was so stupid! I don't know how you can keep forgiving me, coming back to me, after the awful things I said!” Regret tore his heart all over again as he recalled the times they'd stormed apart from each other. All he'd ever wanted was this, to be here in his arms, but his duty to Heaven was so firmly drilled into him for so long that he was powerless against it. It had been such a relief to finally reject Heaven entirely, to take the heretofore untaken side of the Earth. This was where he belonged, this was his home, and now he had a family.

“You were pretty stupid, but I allowed for that. It did hurt, when we fought. It scared me, too, that each time might be the last time we saw each other. Good thing I'm stubborn.”

They situated themselves more comfortably, poured drinks, and snuggled up together. Their worst memories still haunted them, now that they were shaken up to the surface to be examined, it made them both really rather needy. They simply gazed at each other, touching each other, exchanging slow, soft kisses and body-length caresses. They no longer even needed words. It was a sweet, irresistible, pulling instinct holding them together like this. The instinct to _nest_. Then, they were jolted out of their calm by the rattling of the door handle.

Anathema stood in front of the bookshop with a pink bakery box, puzzled why the door wouldn't let her in. It had never been locked to her before! She was pretty far along by now, she was able to feel the baby move and kick and she'd been eager to share this moment with her dads. But the door wouldn't open! She jiggled the handle again and a sign appeared: Do Not Disturb. Please Come Again Later. She furrowed her brow at this, it didn't feel right. Another sign appeared next to it: Go Away. Yes, You. Bugger Off. She tsked sharply and gave the door one last try. Finally, Aziraphale appeared, looking bedraggled and tetchy.

“Yes? Yes, what? Is this...an emergency?”

“Um, no, not exactly.”

“Is everything all right? You, Newt, the baby?” He sounded out of breath and kept looking back over his shoulder into the shop.

“Yes, we're all fine. Just, these notes didn't sound like you.” She started to raise up the box for him to see, but was cut off.

Crowley called out from the back room. “That was me! Coming back, angel?”

“Yes, coming, my dear!” Aziraphale continued, as if urgent to get Anathema on her way. He'd never tried to get rid of her before! “Can it wait? Whatever it is? Until tomorrow? I'm sorry, but he needs...I need...we...” he looks back and forth between his daughter and his husband, feeling horribly torn. “Oh...!”

“Dad, it's fine. I'll come back tomorrow.” She didn't need to be a witch to recognize that they were in the middle of something. “It's all right. Go on.”

Enormous relief washed across Aziraphale's face. “Thank you, my dear. Thank you. We...we just really need this. To nest...to be close.” The door shut and locked, leaving Anathema standing pointlessly in front of the bookshop. She sighed and slouched her way back home. It really hit home how distracted he was, how much he needed Crowley just then, that he didn't even notice the bakery box in her hands. 

Along the way Adam and the Them sauntered past, hailing her cheerfully. She gave them a sad little wave.

“Tried to get into the bookshop? It's closed today.” Adam announced. He obviously hadn't needed written instructions to try another day.

“Yeah. Yeah, I found that out. I just wanted to talk to my dad, but he's busy...with stuff,” she added before any of the children could ask anything further.

“If I had my own bookshop, I'd close it up sometimes, too. If I needed to be away from people,” Pepper told her. “He's probably doing boring grownup stuff like my dad does when he locks himself in his den.”

Anathema smiled at the girl's suggestion. “Maybe.”

“Or he and the other Mr. Crowley-Fell are snogging in there,” Wensleydale put in. “They hold hands together when they're out, but my mum says they actually kiss each other, too! Probably locked the door so people wouldn't come barging in. You probably wouldn't want to watch that, would you?”

She shook her head with a laugh, “No, I suppose not.” True, she had found Aziraphale and Crowley in much more compromising situations, but the children didn't need to know that.

“Besides,” added Brian, “it's just a boring old bookshop anyway. They'll probably be open again tomorrow.”

Anathema gave them a short wave of farewell, feeling a little better. Still, her heightened emotions still stabbed her. While she wasn't really craving anything, when she got home she opened the fridge. Inside there was a small vase with a crocus, a rosebud, and an olive branch. “Crocus for children, rose for love, and the olive branch as an apology,” she recognized with a smile, her feelings of rejection creeping further back. Again, she wondered if it merely produced these things because it knew she wanted them, or if her father was consciously behind the delivery. She'd have to ask him tomorrow. Still, Anathema reasoned that if he had cut her off, which seemed incredibly unlikely, he would have taken the spell off of her refrigerator. Also, she hadn't been actually thinking about any of the items in the vase, despite the fact that she understood its meaning. So, signs pointed to the angel being at least somewhat aware of what appeared inside. Then, a bright spark lit the room for just a second, leaving a silver feather behind. Simply touching it had an even stronger effect than when she picked up the flowers. It gave off a brief sparkle and she was reminded of how it felt when she first realized who Aziraphale was to her. That gentle, yet potent deluge of love that he'd poured over her.

Anathema drew a deep breath, feeling worlds better. She stuck the feather into the vase and set it on the windowsill. She opened the bakery box and indulged in a caramel eclair, leaving the box open as an unspoken invitation that they were fair game. Newt noticed she was quiet the rest of the day. He tried asking her what was wrong and she just shrugged, gazing at the little flowers with a pensive sigh. That evening on the couch, they were killing off the treats from the bakery, neither of them were really watching anything, so Newt decided to take matters into his own hands. He lifted up his wife's legs and laid them across his lap and rubbed her feet. If she wasn't going to tell him what was bothering her, he'd do what he could to make her feel better. He might not be of ethereal stock, but he at least knew how to take care of someone.

Anathema smiled with a comfortable moan of content, stretching luxuriously. “Thank you. Sorry I've been in a mood today.”

“It's fine. Be as moody as you like. Just let me know if I can help.”

“You are, and not just by...this,” she wiggled her toes as he moved on to the other foot. “You do all right, Newton Pulsifer. I appreciate you.”

For a second, Newt almost wished he were pregnant, so he could write off the sudden mistiness in his eyes on hormones as well. He took off his glasses and wiped his face, then bent over and kissed Anathema. Nobody had ever told him that they appreciated him before. He remembered spending most of his life trying like hell to please people and to get something right for once. Now he was with someone who didn't make those demands of him, and he blossomed from it! Anathema never did tell him what was bothering her, but he didn't press it. She seemed to be feeling better now.

The next morning, Anathema and Newt slept late. Newt fancied a day trip to London but Anathema was content to stay home. She never did learn to like riding in Dick Turpin, even if Adam had improved it after the Non-pocalypse. Once he was on his way, she set off for the bookshop. This time, the door opened easily at her touch. She didn't even have to turn the handle. Everything inside was quiet and still, but soft noises came from the back room. 

“Anathema! Come in, come in! Unless the sight of two very old queers cuddling is off-putting to you.” Aziraphale called. He sounded a bit tipsy, just enough to be relaxed. She made her way into their private den. There were silver feathers everywhere and Aziraphale and Crowley were all cuddled up together to the point that she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began! She stifled a giggle at the sight of them. They looked adorably cozy in their respective pjs. Aziraphale was wearing soft fleece cream-colored lounge pants and a long pinstriped white and beige nightshirt, wrapped in a plush robe, while Crowley wore black shorts and a matching t-shirt. It was the first time she saw Crowley with his wings out and she was surprised that they were a matching shade to her father's. Whatever they were, they were the same thing.

Aziraphale caught her staring and shifted nervously. “Is this too alarming?” he asked, flexing his wings. “We can put them away if you like.”

“N-no, that's...that's just fine.”

“Come! Sit! There's room, here, we can scootch,” he invited jovially, patting the couch cushion next to him. “You can be in our little nest, too!”

“Mmm, our baby bird in our nest,” Crowley agreed with a snigger. 

She hesitated for a moment. Anathema's own family had never been that physically affectionate. Still, she could sense the angel's—and yes, demon's-- love radiating out at her, a steady flame in a lighthouse just for her. She squeezed in next to her father and he draped a wing around her.

“Is this what you've been doing since yesterday?” She asked.

Crowley took a long drink from a wine bottle and handed it over to Aziraphale. “Pretty much.”

“The call to nest is hard to resist,” Aziraphale explained before taking a sip himself. By reflex, he passed it to his daughter.

“And _somebody_ here can resist anything but temptation,” Crowley grinned wickedly, resting his head on his husband's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his waist and cuddled with a cozy grunt. Anathema still held the bottle awkwardly, not sure what her doctor would say. Crowley read her uncertainty plainly and goaded her on, “Go on, the kid can handle it. A couple of sips can't hurt.”

With that reassurance, she took a swig and passed it. “I keep meaning to ask you both, how conscious are you of the things my refrigerator makes?”

“Not very,” Aziraphale admitted, taking a sip and passing it to Crowley. “Just yesterday with the flowers and such. I thought you'd like that. And I figured that you'd know the meanings behind them.” He gave her a hopeful smile. “I am sorry for kicking you out yesterday.”

Anathema smiled back, astoundingly pleased that he'd been behind that special delivery. “Don't be.”

“If it had been an emergency--”

“It would have broken your heart, because it would have made you have to choose between me and Crowley. I can't do that to you,” Anathema reasoned, accepting another sip from the bottle. There was something weirdly cozy about their situation. Sitting here in an angel/demon's nest, day-drinking with their wings around her. It felt familiar, as though they'd done it dozens of times, but this was definitely the first. She gave a cozy wriggle, slouched down and rested her cheek against her father's shoulder as he gathered her closer in with his wing. Soft feathers brushed her cheek and lightly tickled her side, and she could understand the attraction of this...nesting ritual. It was nice to be included on it now. She wondered if it felt natural to her because of her partial angelic lineage. 

Crowley snorted, “_You_ couldn't do that to him?? What do you think he'd put me through if anything happened to you?! Like it or not, you mad American angel-witch, you're ours and we all know it.”

Anathema let that pronouncement wash over her and got teary-eyed. She knew Aziraphale loved her with his bottomless angelic heart, but to hear it from Crowley...She heaved a sob and dug in her pockets for something to wipe her face with. Aziraphale conjured up a handkerchief and handed it to her. She half-stood and leaned over Aziraphale to give Crowley a weepy hug.

“Stop it, ugh! Yes, yes, all right,” the demon protested. “Good thing Hell's not watching anymore, they'd never let me hear the end of it. A demon could get in a lot of trouble for being _nice_.”

Utterly seeing through his protestations, Anathema gave him a kiss on the cheek as well before resuming her seat, situating herself comfortably.

“I couldn't have put it better myself,” Aziraphale added softly, drawing her close once more. He stroked her back as she wept heavily. Every so often, he'd miracle the handkerchief clean so she could keep using it. “So, was there a particular reason for you dropping by?” Aziraphale took a long drink of wine and gave it to Crowley. “Or was it just a social call?”

After taking a moment to compose herself after her last outburst, Anathema gave a weak chuckle. “I wanted you to feel the baby kick. I didn't know if either of you have experienced that before.”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged looks. This was the first time either of them had been...invited to such a thing. “And that's...that's a normal human thing? For other people to...” the angel nervously gestured, pointing from his daughter's face to her tummy, up and down, back and forth, before fluttering his fingers in agitation with a mild shudder. “Oh, I don't think I need to--”

“Oh, come on, silly! I just felt one. Here!” Anathema forcibly took her father by the wrist and pressed his hand against her belly. He gave another shiver of mild horror—he'd never been in this close contact with a pregnant woman! There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Then...

“Ohh! Hello, there, little one! You're growing nicely. Soon it will be time to come out. You're doing so well!” He gasped as he felt it. Then, he felt something else that made him sparkle! “Ha! Oh! Oh my...You did it, my dear, you did it!”

Anathema smiled, beaming at his awestruck face. “Did what?”

“There was still some left, then,” he whispered cryptically, moving his hand to feel another kick. “Wonderful! You, uh...you passed it on. Some...small shred of divine light. Come over here, Crowley, feel this! It's remarkable!”

Crowley obeyed, touching his step-daughter's belly and immediately recoiling. “Ah! She's going to have to learn to control that!”

“I can't control it,” Anathema contradicted, having felt something unusual this time, too. It felt like the sort of shock one would get from rubbing their socks against the carpet and touching someone.

“Not you. She zapped me! Your baby tried to smite me!” He wrung his hand dramatically, blowing on his fingers.

“It's a girl?” Anathema asked softly, clearly surprised. More surprised to discover that than she was that her baby was capable of _smiting._

Angel and demon exchanged another look, accusatory and guilty respectively. Crowley groaned. “Ugh, I've spoilt the surprise, haven't I? You didn't want to know.”

“It's...it's fine.” Then, she did something that would have looked crazy otherwise. She spoke aloud to her unborn baby, stroking her tummy while shifting comfortably in her seat. “Now I know Grandpa Crowley might still technically read as a demon, but he's nice. No smiting him, okay?” Then, another thought occurred to her. “But wait, hang on, I thought you said I was completely normal, nothing weird.”

Aziraphale spluttered a bit before answering. “Well, yes, you're nothing _weird_. I don't recall ever saying you were _normal_. Special, yes. Divine, somewhat. _Weird,_ no. I told you it might have strengthened your occult powers. It's just a bit of divine spark, my dear. Nothing to worry about.” He touched her again to feel it some more, and was immediately overwhelmed with _love_. His eyes rolled back as he closed them, as he gave himself over to happy wiggles. “I can't wait to meet you, little one. I know it's a big, wide, scary world out here, but you'll have all of us to...” he trailed off doubtfully. “Well, we'll do our best.”

Crowley watched this display fondly, so very much in love with this blissed-out angel next to him. He reached out cautiously for another touch as well. “Hey there. We might be hereditary enemies, but we're still family. Truce?” When no spark shot at him, he smiled. “There, that's better. At least we mean well, generally.”

She stayed there with them well into the afternoon, accepting periodic sips from the constantly re-filling wine bottle and cuddling with her father figures. This strange nesting ritual felt like something she'd been missing and needing her whole life. Aziraphale even gave her back a good scratch, despite her not inheriting her father's wings. It still felt amazing. When she got up to leave, it was clear that the visit did her a world of good, and gave them all something to think about.

Aziraphale tittered, nudging his husband. “She called you Grandpa Crowley!”

The accused chortled as well, “Grandpa. I've been called worse,” he drawled, finishing off the wine and opening a new one. “How many of us can say we've been actual grandfathers? Not just in the genetic sense, but in the _actually present_ sense?”

“None that I know of,” Aziraphale admitted with a shrug. “How are we feeling about this?”

“We? I don't know about 'we', angel. I...I'm not even sure how I feel. Not like I'm actually related but...you heard her, she...” he struggled to find the words. He'd felt cast-out, unwanted and alone for so much of his life that this was unprecedented. “I think she wants me to be in her family.”

Aziraphale smiled, pulling Crowley close. “Mmm, yes, she does. She likes you. Loves you. And our granddaughter is going to love you to pieces. You're going to teach her things no one else can. It's going to be so much fun!”

“Fun?” Crowley attempted to scoff, as if this were another magic act for him to mock. “Yeah, I s'pose it could be...” He smiled at his husband, glad to see him so excited. This unexpected family was the best thing that could have happened to them.

Anathema spent the rest of the day running errands in town, tutoring various kids by appointment, and generally getting all of her “doing” done. Newt came home that evening with a large pizza for them to split and got to fill her in with his report from London. Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy were still shopping for a house together, and were finally officially engaged. The Witchfinder Army had apparently dissolved as the only two remaining members shacked up with witches to live happily ever after.

“So, how were things around here?”

Anathema thought back to her morning with her father and stepfather, in their snug little angel nest. “Well...Crowley accidentally spilled the beans on the baby's gender reveal. I was fine with it being a surprise, but I really don't mind. It's not going to change much, really. Want to know?”

“Well, Mum said if you're carrying high, it's a boy, and so I'd say it's not. But that could be an old wives' tale.”

Anathema smiled, “Well, you'd be right in this case. But...” she sighed, stacking their plates in the sink and going upstairs to the bedroom. Newt followed curiously. They sat down on the bed together. “Newt...she shot sparks at Crowley.”

“Sparks?”

Nodding with mild concern, Anathema cuddled up to her husband. “Newt...what _is_ she?”

He thought for a bit, recalling the child's unique family tree and all its branches. “She's ours. She's you, and me, and them...and her.” He kissed her softly with a reassuring snuggle. “Whatever else she is, we can handle. Just...just imagine what your poor mother went through! Pregnant by a real live angel! I bet she was relieved you weren't born with wings!”

This made Anathema laugh. “You're right, you're right.”

“And you've got her, and your dads, and my mum...and me, you're not doing this alone. You don't have to worry about sounding like a crazy person around any of us. Your mother had to do it all by herself, or risk getting you taken away.”

“I bet she was glad I wasn't some kind of freak,” Anathema muttered, picking at a thread in the bedspread. “God, I can't even imagine.”

“We can do this. I love you, and her. Your dads are going to be the best grandpas ever, between them and our mothers, our baby will be just about spoiled to death. Whatever she is, she'll be loved.”


	5. Ice Cream Therapy

As the due date drew nearer, the four of them laid out various plans for what to do if Anathema went into labor under varying circumstances. No matter what the circumstances, Crowley was the volunteer driver. There was a small hospital at the airbase which wasn't too far, and they could all trust him to get them there in record time! Newt and Aziraphale were in charge of home comforts, making sure that suitable things were packed and ready, and keeping the house stocked with snacks. By the final few weeks before coming to term, Anathema was in the habit of having an overnight bag with her at all times.

“So, one more time,” Anathema prompted, pacing the floor of the bookshop with a note pad and pencil. Her movements had taken on a much more pronounced swaying motion during the last few months. Crowley kept trying to get Aziraphale up next to her so he could see them “synchronized shimmy”. Newt assisted, cottoning on to the demon's plot. Finally it paid off! Aziraphale stood and paced along with her.

“I've got provisions for the car in a bag by the door,” he stated, unconsciously doing his agitated little dance as he stood in place. Anathema nodded, checking it off her list, finding herself sympathetically mirroring him. Sniggers from the seated party members suddenly erupted.

“Oh, god, you're right!” Newt giggled loudly, smothering his face with a throw pillow in his glee.

“Told you,” Crowley replied, offering his kind-of-son-in-law a fist bump.

“That is _so cute!_” Newt cried, gesturing hugely to his wife. “Like a plump little bird.”

Aziraphale and Anathema both stopped short with embarrassed groans. “Sorry, my dear.”

“What, sorry our husbands are a couple of squirrely schoolboys?” Anathema smirked accusingly. She looked awkwardly at her father again, wondering how much of this was actual genetics at play and how much was simple mirroring of behaviors, like yawning or scratching when you see someone else do it. She cleared her throat loudly and went back to the Plan, not caring if she swayed like her father. It felt comfortable; standing too still made her already sore back ache even worse.

“No matter what, we are _not_ driving Dick Turpin to the hospital, Newt!”

“You better not even think of giving birth in the Bentley! I'll drive you, but you'd better keep everything inside the whole trip. I mean it!” Crowley snarled. “I don't want any _placenta_ or _amniotic fluid_ or whatever...stuff you've got in there all over my back seat! Angel, pack towels. I don't want to take any chances of messing up the leather.”

“Towels,” Aziraphale repeated obediently, adding it to Anathema's checklist.

“I'm not going to give birth in the car, Crowley. It's a 15 minute drive to the hospital, tops. Labor takes longer than that, trust me.”

That night, Crowley went out on one of his usual prowls while Aziraphale followed his daughter back to Jasmine Cottage. Newt had a football game on in the living room, but the other two lingered in the kitchen over a tub of ice cream. They each ate from a separate side, getting a different flavor as the mood struck them.

Anathema smiled as she scooped up a spoonful of chocolate chip. “I love your food-related miracles. You know how and when to wield power.”

Aziraphale chuckled, giving a contented squirm as he spooned up some strawberry. “I'm glad you think so. I don't imagine it would attract any attention.” He gave a watchful look at the ceiling. “I'm sure they have their minds on other matters.”

In the blink of an eye, Anathema's side became butter pecan. “I'm trying not to worry. About the baby, about being a mom. I mean, we just kept the world from ending. What's raising a child compared to that? But...I've never done anything this big without the prophesies. Saving the world was a piece of cake; I had my path laid out for me since I was old enough to read. How will I know how to be a good mom? I won't have any way to know if I'm doing it right! I know I give my mother a hard time, but...she was a good mom. She did her best, and that's all anyone can do.”

“She loves you, of that I'm certain. And, if any of my reading up is true, that's half the battle. I'm trying not to worry, either.”

“What are you worried about?” It actually felt good to release this pressure together. They both spent their lives acting like everything was going to be fine, that they had it all under control. Letting that facade drop was a relief.

Aziraphale sighed guiltily. “Just...what if I do more harm than good? What if...what if there's a reason why angels and demons don't have families? What if it's simply not in our nature?” He took a thoughtful bite of dark chocolate truffle ice cream and pondered.

Anathema shook her head. “You didn't even have to know who I was to be compelled to help me when Crowley ran me over. I _know_ you, Dad. You've got it in you. Love and compassion _are_ your nature. So what if _they_ don't approve?” She gave the ceiling a disgusted look. Knowing that actual angels habitually bullied her father made her feel rather sour toward them. “That day we first found out about each other, when you wrapped me in your wings and showered me with your love. I'll remember that forever, and the baby will have all that from the start! You'll be perfect, I know it. So what if you're a few centuries behind the times?” They giggled together.

“So...we'll all just do our best.” This affirmation cheered him. He took a few bites of cinnamon ice cream with a hopeful heart.

“Mom used to tell me I'd inherited Agnes' gift, to see or read the future. I've had flashes, moments, but never thought to write it down,” the witch recalled. “I'm glad she never pressured me to. Newt's right. I don't want to be a descendant all my life, and I don't want my daughter to be, either. I think Mom felt bad for me, like I was bound by fate and neither of us could help it. I can't imagine telling my own child that it was on her to save the world.” Anathema took a few indulgent bites of cookies & cream frozen custard. Then she stopped with a self-deprecating chuckle, tossing her spoon down. “I'm going to get so fat!”

Aziraphale tsked and handed her spoon back. “_Soft_. You're about to be somebody's mother. You ought to be soft. Besides, you need to keep up your strength.” 

“Soft is good,” she agreed and gave her father a playful pat on the arm. He was soft, too, and it was comforting and carried a special sort of strength. Anathema was absolutely certain that he would be the best grandpa he could be. She could envision him holding her baby in his lap, the picture of utter contentment. She could see him reading stories aloud, complete with “the voices”. Pretending to sprinkle holy water under the bed to keep the monsters away. A great swell of love bubbled up within her at these thoughts. Was it imagination, or a premonition? 

Then, he sighed self-consciously. “I do hope I didn't contribute anything awful to your bloodline. I hope she's...normal, for lack of a better word. I know you and Newt especially are concerned about that. Not being anything...funny.”

Anathema took a spoonful of raspberry sorbet. “Dad...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I don't see how you could contribute anything _awful_. She will have advantages I never did. She'll know what she is from the start—and that's not being critical of you showing up late in the game. I don't blame you for that. I'll never blame you for that. You...you wouldn't have known what to do with being the father of a human child! You and Mom wouldn't have been happy if you'd stuck around. It wouldn't have worked at all! You crossed paths, had a fling, and that was it. We both had the world to save, and if you'd stayed with me and Mom in California, raised me, how would you have wrangled your plot with Crowley? And you probably would have gotten in trouble with your people upstairs for mingling too closely with humans. _That_ would have been awful.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right. I just hope I don't cause any...unnecessary complications. Children can be cruel, and humans in general are wary of what's...different. Still, I'll be happy to have her. Our own little star-child.” He smiled comfortably again.

This made Anathema pause and jot something down on a pad of paper. “Star-child, I like that. Not a freak.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose at the word. “No, not a freak”

Anathema thought for a moment and added,“Well, I grew up a weirdo and turned out okay.”

Hearing this, Newt got up from the couch and sauntered into the kitchen. “So was I. And, what made us weird is what helped each of us to save the world. So, there's that.”

Aziraphale raised hopeful eyebrows at this. “I do believe you're right!” The same could be said of him and Crowley. Being outcasts among their own kinds, finding a home on Earth, had led them both to try their best to protect it. Who else would there have been to stand hand-in-hand with the Antichrist at the end? All of their essential weirdness was what saved the world from destruction.

“Plus, you never really fit in with other angels; that Gabriel guy in particular was a dick to you and you're _way_ cooler than any of them,” Anathema reminded him reassuringly. “It's like you said the other day, she'll have all of us looking out for her.” She pulled out a chair for Newt and he found himself joining them. The ice cream divided itself into three, Newt's share became spumoni. To his credit, he only flinched briefly before accepting this miracled ice cream tub that sat between them.

Anathema took a bite, cookie dough this time, and licked her spoon. “Y'know, Dad since we...you know, found out about each other...it's made me wonder...how much of me is from you? That day when you and me and Crowley all _nested_ together...that felt natural. It felt good.”

“And even Crowley remarked on the look you got on your face when I scratched your back,” Aziraphale remembered with a laugh. Newt remembered her coming home one day in a funk, then the next day she was walking on air. It was only after that she filled him in on what happened. Getting turned away one day and welcomed into their nest the next. It sounded like just the thing. It made him wonder if he could duplicate that for her, _nest_ with her on their own couch.

“Oh, bliss!!” Anathema giggled sharply, “So is that an...'us' thing?”

From the look on his face, anyone could tell that Aziraphale was flattered, if a little surprised! “You could call it that.”

“I like that. I like that there are 'us' things.”

Aziraphale changed his share of the ice cream back to strawberry and looked pensive. “I do, too.” There was something unmistakably cozy about sharing these things with his daughter. He'd known her for less than a year and she was his pride and joy. Finding things that made her similar to himself and Crowley was so comforting. It seemed to be a universal need, to share traits with each other. It obviously gave them both a cozy binding feeling.

They smiled at each other over the tub, not needing to say anything more for the moment. Simply happy with the strange sort of family they've patched together.

After midnight, they were still in the kitchen, still digging into ice cream, although Aziraphale conjured up some more savory fare to cut through the sweetness. Plates of fried chips stayed eternally hot by their elbows as they discussed any worry or thought that crossed their minds. Anathema and Newt shared stories of their childhoods, amusing Aziraphale with their reminisces. It was remarkable how different, yet how similar they all were! Each seemingly bound to their particular path, until they finally broke away to become their own person. Some things transcended even species! It was a perfect time for Aziraphale to get to know his son-in-law better, too. Hearing of his struggles and yearnings and growing pains were surprisingly relatable. It made him so happy that Newt and Anathema had found each other.

While Anathema's family came from money, she still didn't have it easy. Being raised among prophecies and handed down legends, riddles and clues, made it difficult for her to make friends and relate to people. She never ventured far beyond her family group. Her grandparents and other older relatives would take her and her cousins out on woodland hikes to learn to detect leylines and learn woodlore. They'd take long caravan drives to Ren fests in the summer and fall.. Always together, always part of a group. But she still felt singled out. Everyone else got to have their own lives, go their own way after a certain time. She was the one who had to save the world. It was a lot for her to live up to. This trip to England was her first big adventure on her own. 

Newt told them about growing up during the personal computer boom, when everyone began to get one. He longed to be a computer engineer, the one to design and perfect these wonderful machines. He was apparently cursed from the start, though. Newt Pulsifer, for all his grandiose plans, could barely operate a pocket calculator without it fritzing out in his hands. He was quick to learn to do difficult maths by hand and in his head, as well has using his mother's ancient slide-rule. Consequently, he never got a place on the robotics team, but he was a gold medal Mathlete from the time he was 12 on through graduation. Still, he never stopped wishing he could be a computer engineer. It left an unfulfilled ache in his heart, a regret that could never heal.

Aziraphale contributed some stories from his past as well, and they all seemed to involve Crowley bailing him out of trouble or leading him into it. Newt and Anathema got to hear the story of hereditary enemies and best friends. Partners and lovers. All spanning thousands of years. Anathema was rather envious of her dads, that they had so much time to be together. It was tragic, though, that they'd had to spend so much of their time together pretending not to be. No wonder they took advantage of every opportunity to be openly close now. They had six millennia of lost time to make up for!

Another commonality was that they all had close relationships with their mothers. Aziraphale maintained hope that he hadn't lost Her entirely, despite what Heaven's management thought of him. He liked to think that She approved of him and Crowley. Perhaps he would phone home someday and see if She would pick up.

Newt's mother, Joyce, was ready to like just about anyone. She, as the saying went, could bring the best out of a polecat. When Newt brought his teammates home after school for study sessions, she would always make brownies and pizza for them. “Brain food” as they called it. It certainly kept Newt high in their estimations! It was because of her that school was remotely bearable, amid all of his other shortcomings.

Anathema loved her mother, she did the best she knew how, but it still irked the young witch that she insisted on treating her like a child. What others saw as concern and genuine caring, Anathema felt the sting of never being good enough. That she would never be a capable adult in her mother's eyes, no matter what she did. 

Crowley eventually came by and let himself in, having wreaked as much havoc as he cared to that night. He never told anyone that he often turned clocks back on parking meters at the same time. Go—Sata--Somebody help him if word ever got around that he was nice!

“You're all up late...or early. To be honest, it ought to be a Hell-worthy offense to be that cute,” he shot accusingly at Aziraphale, leaning in and giving him a kiss and a stroke across his back, who simply conjured up another spoon for him.

“Care to join us?” Anathema invited.

Crowley scowled unconvincingly, hunkering down between them. He gave the ice cream tub a look of undisguised interest.“What kind?”

“Right now, mine's chocolate chip, Newt has chocolate and Dad has strawberry cheesecake, but you can make it whatever you want.”

The former demon spluttered and muttered meaninglessly, pretending he had no opinion about ice cream. He pulled up a chair, swiped two piping hot chips and dragged them through Newt's chocolate ice cream before eating them. Then, he remembered the creamy coconut gelato he'd had on his honeymoon. The next second, the tub was divided in four as he truly joined them in their ice cream party. 

Aziraphale looked enthralled! With softly sparkling eyes, he smiled over at his husband. “You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered, angel,” Crowley grumbled, embarrassed to have shown that much sentimentality to so many people. The only thing that made it okay in his book was that these were all his people. If any outsiders had been present, it would have been another story.

There was no further discussion. They just sat cozily together, now swiping out of each other's sections of the tub and mixing flavors together. None of them even bothered to wonder if this was how “normal” people did this. They were a family, and if they were weird, they'd be weird together.


End file.
